


un veneno

by longituddeonda



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Woman, Prequel, Roommates, Sexual Content, Smut, Unhappy Ending, and well, as in this ends before season one, hot tropical nights, i don't want to be misleading or anything, i'm putting that out there, possibility of a happy epilogue but no promises, so just, we know who javi is in season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda
Summary: the year is 1980. javier peña has been at the embassy in bogotá for a year when he meets you, fresh out of college and brand new to the country.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Comments: 65
Kudos: 180





	1. january: captivate

_ “Quero um–no, fuck–un paquete de cigarros?”  _ you said to the shop attendant. Spanish was no easy task. It was a dumb decision to come here without any knowledge of the language, but you had assumed some university-level Portuguese would help. Apparently not, because the man behind the counter shot you a confused look as he pulled a pack from the shelves behind them. He understood, that was clear, but you didn’t know the words.

_ “Ella quiere unas Pielrojas porfa, con filtro,”  _ said a voice behind you, “ _ No esos malditos y caros Marlboros. Bueno, que sean dos y yo pago.” _

_ “Señor Peña, ¿cómo vas?”  _ the shopkeeper said, and you turned to look at this ‘Señor Peña.’

He was a bit taller than you, and more than a bit older. Tanned skin, tight pants, a pink shirt. A large pair of orange-tinted sunglasses masked his eyes.

“ _ Muy bién, Roberto, ¿y cómo va tu esposa?” _ He said, and the shopkeeper laughed. You only caught a few words of the exchange and were unsure if you were getting your cigarettes.

You flew into Bogotá the day before and had just gotten settled at the hostel you’d be staying in for the next couple of weeks. It had been a solid three days since you’d had a smoke and you wanted to go to the park nearby and relax.

The man turned to you and began to speak with a rough but refreshingly familiar American accent, tinged with the light musicality of the Southern states, “I’m sorry ma’am for the interruption, but Roberto here was going to try to sell you the Marlboros, which are much to overpriced, and I couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you get ripped off like that.”

“Thank you? But I can handle myself,” you said.

“Obviously not, you sound like you’re confusing Portuguese for Spanish, which just won’t cut it here,” he said, turning to pay for the two boxes that Roberto placed on the counter.

He tossed you one pack, which you fumbled with, clutching it against your stomach to ensure it didn’t fall. He laughed.

“That right there’s a pack of Pielroja, it’s loosely packed, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s cheaper, local, and ten times better,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said. As interesting as the guy was, you really wanted to leave for the park. Colombia wasn’t your first rodeo, but somehow every new country was exhausting between the 24th and 32nd hour marks.

“You’re welcome,” he said as you brushed by him and walked out the door.

Outside the shop, you paused to fish your lighter out of your bag.

“So what’s an American girl doing in Bogotá all alone?” The man was back, standing in front of you.

“You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Not really, no,” he grinned, leaning back against the building.

You opened the pack of cigarettes he bought you, lit one, and drew it to your lips.

“So, do you like it?” he was messing around with his own box and pulled out one. He held it out to you, silently asking for you to light it. You complied.

You weren’t sure if he was talking about cigarettes or Bogotá. “It’s nice. So far,” you said, exhaling smoke.

He laughed again, this time bringing a smile to your face. He had a nice laugh.

“You never answered me, what are you doing here?”

“Teaching English at an elementary school nearby, I start next week,” you said.

His eyebrows shot up, “How old are you? 20?”

“22.”

“What kind of 22-year-old wants to be a  _ schoolteacher _ ?” he said.

“Me, apparently,” you said, “But it’s not my career or anything. Graduated last May, I’ve been traveling and teaching English, got a gig here, whole school year, pays pretty well, I’m excited.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, “22, fresh out of college, your only experience out of the states was probably in Europe, and you’re gonna teach kids? In Colombia?”

“What’s wrong with a bit of crazy?” you said.

“What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring your question.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said. You liked how he said your name. “I’m Javier.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, staring at him propped up against the building.

The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and a thin sheen of sweat lay over his chest and face. Something about the look with the broad mustache made him appear like he was stuck in ‘73. His smile was one of those that reached the eyes and spilled into those around him.

You exhaled carefully.

“So, what are you doing in Colombia?” you asked.

“I work for the American embassy,” he said. There was a pause as he waited for the impressed look on your face that never came.

“What is this then, a welcome package?” you asked, chuckling to yourself.

“It could be,” he pushed himself off the wall and took another drag, “But then again, you’re only 22.”

“What does that have to—oh.” You found yourself laughing again. Javier was the sort of guy that you’d probably slap in the face back in the USA. But here, with the cloud cover doing nothing to mask the heat and humidity, the smell of papaya and passion fruit wafting through the air, you were only amused.

“See you around, Y/N,” Javier said, and he walked down the sidewalk before turning a corner and disappearing.

* * *

Five days of getting to know hundreds of students in different classes during the first week of school, all while trying to develop lesson plans, left you lying in your hostel bed on a Friday night. You were alone in the room, the rest of the residents out partying, as per usual for a hostel in the middle of a city.

You would have loved to be out too, Colombian Rock and rum thrumming through your body, dancing with someone, going home with someone.

But you had spent too much energy this week and partying would have to wait. You had a year left in Bogotá, at least another 50 Friday nights. Lesson planning would let up once you got into a rhythm. And figured out a living situation.

One of the other teachers had offered her spare bedroom during February and a bit of March, but her daughter would be back in town after that, and you’d lose the space. The wait until you got your own space in February felt far away. March even further. But planning for that needed to happen sooner rather than later. The hostel bed was killing you, and you hated the drunk guys coming and going.

At least you knew you’d be alone for another hour. No one dared come back before midnight; if you were caught calling it an early night it was certain fodder for shame the next morning. At least, that was the way your roommates worked.

Still, to be safe, you closed the curtain, encapsulating yourself on your bed in the darkness. You closed your eyes and slipped one hand down your stomach, dipping under the waistband of your pants and into your underwear.

As your fingers brushed over your clit, you let out a small gasp, your free hand fisting into the sheets. The last time you had been touched was over a month ago, back during the cold December winter weather in Brussels. You worked your hand across your slit, telling yourself this had to be a one-time thing. You would go out, find a good hookup this week.

Your brain was overworking, shuddering in pleasure, and the man from last week flickered across your vision: Javier.

You imagined his chest, the open shirt leaving a trail right down his chest, glowing in the sun. You slipped a finger inside, gasping at the sensation.

He would probably take you to bed if you played your cards right. If you found him again. He seemed to have that kind of character. You remembered his last words to you, suggestive and sensual.

He was older, probably by a lot. You shouldn’t be thinking about him, but you wanted him to hold you in his arms, kiss your neck. You imagined how he’d taste, probably like cigarettes and whiskey.

The thought of his hands snaking down your waist, pulling you closer almost sent you over and you moved your fingers faster. His smile, snarky and self-obsessed as it was, had worked its way into your brain, and you wondered where he was now.

Did he remember you? Had he laid in bed like you were now, getting himself off to your name? And that image, flooding into your brain, as unrealistic as it was, caused you to almost scream out loud, your whole body spasming.

Finally relaxed, your body almost limp on the bed, you became aware of the layer of sweat that now covered your body, and made up your mind to take a shower. As soon as you recover. That was the best orgasm you had had in months. But where had those thoughts come from?

You had only seen Javier that one time, right outside the corner store, then tried and failed to shove him out of your mind. In the few minutes you had known him, you had decided he was an asshole who didn’t deserve your time, but the sort of asshole you could see yourself becoming good friends with.

If he was years younger, you could have imagined traveling with him, continuing your round-the-world travels with Javier would have been amazing. You had seen so many things during your six months in Europe and met so many people. Many of the backpackers at the youth hostels you stayed at traveled with others. Mostly, they were single, their companions just good fun and friendship for the journey.

You had long since imagined meeting someone on the road like they did, someone that would sweep you off your feet and set aside a year of their life to spend with you, hopping from country to country, odd job to odd job.

Javier’s shit-eating grin and verbal wit would stick in your mind long after you left Colombia. And here you were, getting off to him.

If he lived in Bogotá? Worked at the embassy, probably lived nearby? You’d probably see him again. And you’d have to look at him in the eye, the only thing running through your mind the memory of tonight.

You wanted to see him again. Wanted to have lunch and smoke with him. Wanted him to show you around. But after what you just did, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Sex was no stranger to you, the one night stands being a common figure in your life throughout college, but even you wouldn’t go for someone as old as him. You had standards. A guy his age was reserved for friendship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Until now.

“God, I’m  _ fucked _ ,” you breathed out, sitting up and gathering your shower stuff before heading to the bathroom.

* * *

Javier had returned to the corner store every day for the past two weeks, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. He was back today, 15:30, hopefully after school got out, he imagined, eyes scanning the store as he lingered by the refrigerators full of six-packs.

The bell rang as someone walked in and he looked up. You stood there, exhausted from a day of child-wrangling and his eyes lit up.

All you wanted was a bottle of something and a shitty candy bar. You were roaming the aisles, trying to settle between the foreign brands of chocolate when Javier approached.

“Y/N,” he said, causing you to startle as you looked up. A deep red blush began to blossom across your cheeks as you took him in. He was even better in person.

“Javier, what a coincidence, running into you here again,” that was a lie. You walked past four other stores just to come here, hoping he would be nearby.

“Yeah... a coincidence,” he said, reaching down to grab a candy bar. “This one’s the best, that is, if you like milk chocolate.”

“So two weeks later and all you’re still giving me local product recommendations? You should write for the newspaper,” you laughed, signaling you didn’t want the chocolate when he tried to hand it to you, “But you’d be wrong, because the only good chocolate is dark chocolate.”

“You like that bitter shit?” he said, still holding the bar in his hands.

You reached down for something that said 85% and figured that would be dark enough for you.

“Gross,” he said.

“You can leave,” you said.

You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to go for a coffee?” he said. “You look exhausted.”

“Real good way to charm a woman,” it should have stung, but when Javier said it, you smiled.

“That, um, sounded bad, didn’t it?” his brow was furrowed and his smile was gone.

“Yeah, it did,” you kept smiling, hoping he would light up again. You wanted his excited face burnt into your memory. “So, what’s the best café around here?”

“Are you some kind of heathen who takes their coffee with no sugar or milk to go with your raw chocolate beans? If so, I have no suggestions because that’s disgusting.”

You laughed, loudly, with your whole body, “Unfortunately for you, I do. But if you give me a good  _ café con leche _ I’ll drink it.”

“Good, because you’re not going to get away with that bar of chocolate and coffee with no add-ins.”

“I worry you have a sweet tooth and can’t appreciate good flavors,” you said. It was so easy to talk with him. He knew exactly what to say to keep you smiling as he leaned against the display like he owned the place.

“I don’t have a sweet tooth, you just like your food to hurt you,” he said, “Let’s go, there’s a good café down the block.”

He reached out to grab your hand and you almost lost it. His palm was soft and his grip firm.

Javier led you to the register where he flung his arm around your shoulders, “ _ Roberto, te acuerdas de Y/N, ¿verdad?” _

Roberto chuckled, ringing up your two chocolate bars,  _ “Por supuesto.” _

He leaned towards you and said, in broken English, “Careful. Señor Peña is crazy man, yes? He is flirt but he doesn’t mean it.”

Javier laughed, “ _ No somos una pareja, Roberto, somos amigos. Solo amigos.” _

You understood that part. You were friends. You grinned. After just ten minutes of talking over two weeks, Javier thought of you as a friend.


	2. february: blossom

“I still don’t understand why you leave 30 minutes early on a school morning,” Emiliana said, walking out from the bathroom still in her pajamas.

“I like my coffee,” you were gathering up your things in front of the doorway, patting down your purse in search of your wallet.

“You don’t like coffee, you like that man,” she said. You looked up at your colleague, smirking at you from across the room.

“Of course I like Javier. He’s my friend. And the coffee is great,” you said.

“ _No me mientas, Y/N.”_

“Would I ever lie to you? I’m serious, he’s just a friend. Do I need to remind you of Mateo?”

“ _Por Dios_ , don’t remind me of Mateo, I don’t ever want him here,” she said. That was fair.

Mateo was the guy you met two weeks ago, back when you were staying at the hostel. Another backpacker, like yourself. He was in Bogotá for a month, and you had been fucking since you first met each other.

When Emiliana’s free bed opened up and you moved in, Mateo and you had to keep your relationship out of the bedroom. His hostel room always had others around and your colleague didn’t deserve to hear you going at it all night. It had quickly turned into quickies in the bathrooms of the discos. Emiliana had come out with you one evening, and not even an hour into the night caught the two of you going at it.

“I promise, Mateo’s not coming here, and anyways, he leaves in a week.”

“Go have fun with your Javier,” Emiliana smiled, “ _Hasta luego, chica.”_

“ _Hasta luego,”_ you replied, exiting the apartment and skipping down the stairs.

The café you liked to meet Javier at was four blocks away from your apartment, and relatively close to the Embassy. It was a little shop that was busy in the morning but always had an open place to sit down.

This morning Javier beat you there, waving to you from a window seat as soon as you walked in. Glancing at the table, you saw two cups of coffee and a glass of juice. No need to go up to order.

“Juice for today’s papaya,” Javier said as you sat down. “I didn’t know if you’d like it, but you’ve ordered the juice every day since we got here, so...”

“Papaya’s great,” you said.

“Thought you might like it.”

“Thanks,” you said. You raised the glass to your lips, letting the fresh fruit flavor wash over your tongue. Javier was right. You loved it. It may have been your favorite thing so far about Colombia: all the fruit and the green and the tropical-ness. Everything was so vibrant and _alive_.

“So, how’s Colombia been treating you? You’re going on, what? Five weeks?”

“Yeah, five. It’s been great. No thanks to you.”

“I buy you all this coffee for nothing?”Javier had a mock offended look on his face, and you giggled.

“Emiliana’s been great. 10 days in her house has fixed my back from 6 months of hostel hopping,” you said, “Plus my Spanish has gotten so much better.”

“Really?” he shot up an eyebrow, “‘Cause I haven’t seen proof of that.”

“It’s a lot better! You, of course, wouldn’t know because you order for me every chance we get.”

“Maybe I should stop, then,” he said, “just to hear your pretty voice speak some Spanish.”

“I don’t think you could shut up,” you said.

“You don’t?” he grinned at you.

“Of course not. How would you give me all those recommendations and suggestions you know I won’t listen to unless you order for me at every restaurant?”

“Then maybe I should work on being more convincing in English,” Javier’s eyes lit up and even though you were enamored from day one, you felt yourself sink even further into them.

“Maybe you should,” this was getting into dangerous territory, even you knew that.

Javier took a sip of his coffee and you mirrored him.

“Are you doing anything on Saturday?” he asked.

You looked up, trying to figure out what exactly he was really asking.

“No?” Mateo might have wanted to spend the day together before he left, but that could wait. Right? There was always Sunday.

“Good, I’m picking you up and we’re going to my favorite place in Bogotá, 10am, okay?” he said.

“10am? Javi, that’s early for a Saturday, I’m usually out all Friday night,” you protested.

“Then don’t. I’m picking you up at 10,” he leaned back into his chair.

“Mateo and I—”

“Tell Mateo he can take you out on Saturday night instead,” he said. “I only have Saturday off and I don’t think you’re gonna regret this.”

“I—fine,” you said. “10am, and it better be worth it.”

So far, everything Javier took you to do or found for you to eat had been worth it. That was the only reason you said yes. That and his smile that appeared every night in your dreams.

* * *

Javier was leaning out of the window of his car, orange aviators on and his cream-colored shirt halfway unbuttoned when you exited Emiliana’s apartment building and burst out onto the warm streets of Bogotá.

“Morning,” he said. “You’re looking pretty awake for someone who said 10am was early.”

“I didn’t go out last night, asshole,” you said, walking around to the passenger side. “It’s entirely your fault.”

You got into the car and Javier merged into the traffic.

“Why do you like to party so much?” he said, eyes sticking to the road.

“I like dancing.”

“Just dancing?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s fun,” you shrugged. You never thought about _why_. You enjoyed going out. Enjoyed dancing with people. Enjoyed feeling like you were part of something. Enjoyed making friends, even if it was just for one night.

“So where are we going?” you asked.

“It’s a surprise,” he glanced over at you for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. You were headed out into the most distant neighborhoods, further and further south.

“You’re lucky I’m the sort of girl that likes surprises,” you said.

Javier laughed. “You’re probably right. Last girl I tried to surprise got pretty pissed.”

“So you take all your girls out here?”

“No, only the pretty ones.”

“Shut up,” you had started giggling earlier, and at this point, it was a full-on laugh that made your stomach hurt, “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“What makes you think that?”

“How many girls are you just friends with?” you asked. You knew he liked to sleep around. After only a month of knowing the guy, you had heard him talking on multiple occasions about his sexual escapades with the prostitutes of the town.

But he had to have others like you, work friends and acquaintances from around the city. Friends he didn’t have just to fuck. Someone couldn’t last for over a year in another country without friends to go out with. Yet you found yourself taking up his every morning and most of his afternoons. It probably wasn’t fair to his other friends.

“You’re the only one,” he said, the teasing tone in his voice gone.

Oh.

You looked down at your lap. The air in the car had changed. You didn’t know what to say. If you were the only one, did that mean you were the only girl he didn’t have the intention of fucking? You weren’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. Maybe it was a red flag? Maybe it was good? It meant he cared.

Javier flipped on the radio, soft cumbia pouring into the car. You leaned back, looking around as you reached the edges of the city and turned off onto a dirt road, heading into the mountainous jungle.

You wound up the side of one of the hills that towered over Bogotá, the car violently bouncing with every pothole and rock on the unpaved path. Where you were going, you had no idea.

Javier hummed along to the music. It briefly passed your mind that as a single female traveler, right out of college, you shouldn’t be trusting older men, especially those who took you to remote locations. But if Javier wanted to hurt you, he would have done so long before, right? You trusted him.

“This is my favorite part,” he said.

You looked around. The trees were as green as ever, damp with the humid tropical air. Everywhere you looked there were leaves the size of your head and thick vines dangling from high branches.

It was something out of a movie. Growing up in the USA and traveling around Europe lent well to fantasies of medieval villages and soft rolling hills, but here was warm and green and untouched. It was better than anything you’d ever seen.

The light grew brighter as the tree cover thinned, and Javier slowed down as you exited the jungle.

Bogotá lay before you, spread out and nestled in the valley. You were perched on the edge of the mountain, a small rocky outcropping, only a few meters away from nothing.

Javier jumped out of the car and you followed him to the edge.

“This is my favorite place in Bogotá,” he said, “I come up here when I need to escape the violence.”

“Violence?”

“My line of work isn’t exactly the most safe. I see the underbelly of the city, the stuff it doesn’t want you to know about. I come up here to see it from afar, remind me of how beautiful it is.”

You inhaled. You thought the city air was refreshing, and it was, compared to where you had been before, but up here, the air was pristine. It was fresh and close to the earth. You could hear the birds in the distance, sounds you had never once heard in your lifetime, ones that you’d never want to forget.

“It’s gonna be damn hard leaving here,” you said.

“Leaving?” Javier turned towards you.

“Yeah, when the school year’s over, in November. I want to keep traveling. I only just started exploring the world, there’s so much more.”

“I thought you...” he started.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know,” Javier shook his head. “Why are you doing this? Living on the road. I get the feeling you haven’t spent this much time anywhere since you graduated.”

“I haven’t,” you said. “I got my English teaching certification before I left, and I’ve just gone where I’ve felt like going. I don’t know, I guess I just like not being tied down anywhere. I don’t have a lot of stuff to deal with. I get to meet people. I don’t usually stay in one place for more than a couple weeks.”

“Where have you been?”

“I started in Paris. That was sort of my home base. I’d spend a week there and then a couple away, and then go back. I did a lot of teaching in Portugal, and I worked at a bunch of hostels across Eastern Europe in exchange for a bed.”

“I don’t think I could do that.”

“I’ll admit, settling down, letting Bogotá be my home for a bit. It’s relaxing. Nice not having to worry about where to next and whatnot.”

“It’s one hell of a city. You’ve gotta be careful, cause it’ll make it hard to say goodbye to,” Javier said. He was looking out over the sprawling urban space.

It was the most colorful city you’d ever laid eyes on. A couple small skyscrapers dotted the skyline, and green parks and tree-lined boulevards peeked out between the buildings.

“I’ve said goodbye to lots of cities. But it’s never a goodbye, is it? More of a ‘see you later,’” you said. You knew this to be a truth, one that many didn’t ever understand. You just wondered when this ‘see you later’ would be. And how hard it might be to pry yourself away from the people you had already grown to care for.

* * *

“I’m paying today,” you said, sliding into the seat. It was your fourth lunch date with Javier, and while you had split the morning café trips evenly, he had taken the load for the lunches. He always excused it as being the only one with a full-time, well-paying job.

“Alright, I guess there’s a first for everything,” he laughed. The skin around his eyes crinkled and the laugh came from deep within his chest.

“You have no idea how great it is to take my lunch away from the school,” you said. “I love the kids, but eating in the teacher’s lounge? It’s a nightmare. Emiliana teaches literature, so she’s on the other side of the building and I get funny looks if I try to eat a packed meal there.”

“I still don’t get why you want to work in a school. You graduated. You’re done. And you go _back?_ ”

“It’s not that bad,” you said, laughing to yourself at the hypocrisy of your statement. “The kids are alright, especially the younger ones. They really want to be there.”

“Better than spending day after day in an office, surveying recordings of drug dealers talking about the latest _fútbol_ game.”

“Is that what you do?”

“No,” Javier groaned, “Not usually. But it’s what I’ve been doing for the last four days. It’s got me completely stir crazy.”

“That sounds awful,” you said.

The waiter came over to take your orders, and two of you slipped into easy conversation as you waited for your food.

One of the things you had missed most about having a stable life was friends. On the road, you had friends, but they were people you might have only known for a week or saw once a month when you accidentally crossed paths. If you weren’t traveling with someone, you had no one who could fully understand what you were going through, what you were doing, how you were feeling. Emiliana had been that since day one at school, and you were more thankful every day that Javier and you had grown so close as well.

Maybe you should have put a bit more energy into making friends who were closer to your age, but everyone in that category who was interesting to you was also temporary residents. People who came and went. You didn’t live near the university, and nights at the disco weren’t good for making lunch dates.

“So Mateo left?” Javier asked as you received your plates.

“Yeah, a couple days ago,” you said. It was probably for the best. You had become close very quickly, and yeah, Mateo was good—no, great—at sex, but the last few days with him you were starting to imagine another face instead of his own.

“That’s... unfortunate,” Javier was moving his food around the plate with his fork, staring down at his lap.

“We went into knowing there was an end date,” you said. “With people like us, there always is. Occupational hazard, sort of.”

“You don’t ever want something more?”

“Sure, someday. But I’m 22, I’m not looking for a husband or anything.” To be perfectly honest, you did it for the sex and the parties. That’s why most people did it. Either for sex or for companionship through a few countries. “It was fun, and, it’s not really over. Just open-ended. By December I’ll be traveling again, and who knows? We might run into each other. It happens all the time.”

“So you just go through your life having short flings? What’s the point then?”

“What’s the point? It’s fun,” you laughed, “And don’t you do the same thing? You visit the brothels all the time, I’m pretty sure that’s fun.”

“They’re informants,” he looked up at you, now smiling again.

“Sure they are, Javi,” you said.

“It’s different though. What I do, that’s not a relationship, it’s just...”

“Fun?” you filled in.

“I suppose so,” he said. He took a long pause before continuing again. “I was engaged once. Left her at the altar. I couldn’t drag her into all this, the DEA, it was too much.”

“God, Javi, that’s...” you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t think Javier was the sort of guy who would do that. He cared too much about people.

“It’s bad, I know.” Javier’s face flushed, but he knew it was the right decision. She was with someone better now. He hadn’t loved her as much as he thought he had. If he had, he would have gone right back to Texas. “But the whole dating thing, it’s supposed to mean something, isn’t it? You have sex with someone once, you can forget about them. Twice, and it’s maybe a coincidence. But three times? When you’re not paying for it? Then it _means_ something.”

* * *

It was almost the end of the month. Emiliana’s daughter would be back in two weeks. You still didn’t have a place.

And instead of going out searching for one, you were heading over to Javier’s apartment for a drink.

He was given a place in an apartment owned by the embassy. Javier complained often enough that he hadn’t gotten to stay in the embassy complex where they had a full maid service and more consistent air conditioning, but it was full when he was assigned here. Supposedly he’d be moved when a single apartment opened up, but those were in high demand and DEA agents just didn’t get priority.

He knew you were coming over, so you walked up the outside stairs and found his name on the phone plate. You were about to push the button so he could buzz you in when some couple exited the building. You caught the door and slipped inside.

You jogged up the steps to the third floor where Javier’s door was. A woman, not much older than you, wearing a short pair of shorts and a black top that showed off most of her body, was exiting his apartment. You chuckled to yourself as she walked by you and down the stairs.

You knocked softly on Javier’s door, not sure if you really wanted to see him so shortly after _whatever_ had happened. You heard a bit of shuffling before the door opened. He was fully clothed, _thank god_ , you had no idea what would have happened if he wasn’t.

“So...” you said, smiling, “Who was _that?”_

Javier paled. “That was, um, she—”

“One of your... informants?” you asked.

“Yeah, I, uh,” he started.

“It’s fine, I know what you like to do,” you said, pushing past him into the living room. “Just, right before having me over? Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think? Or do you just run a tight schedule?”

Javier closed the door, and seemingly more relaxed. “I didn’t mean for it to go as long as it did.”

“Javi? Too much information,” you said, “Just tell me, can I sit down on the couch? Or does it need to be wiped down first?”

“Y/N? Shut up,” Javier was smiling that perfect smile again as the two of you burst into laughter.


	3. march: eloquence

You turned over as you woke up, not wanting to open your eyes to the bright light that streamed into your room from the windows. When you did, however, your eyes didn’t open to the darker side of your room but the worn fabric of Javier’s couch.

You stretched out, groaning as you woke up. Your neck was a little sore, which you attributed to the position you were lying in without a pillow. A blanket was half-draped over you, and you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. It didn’t feel great, but the couch was surprisingly comfortable.

The events of the night before began to return to your memory: going out for drinks with Javier, returning to his apartment, watching TV on the couch until late. You must have drifted off at some point.

It was nice to know Javier let you fall asleep there. It had happened before, more often than you’d like to admit, but usually, he’d set you up in the small spare bedroom he had.

You heard a bit of rustling as you rolled over to glance over the room. Javier was walking out of the kitchen towards the door, a piece of toast in hand.

“Javi?” you said, voice dripping with sleep, “What are you doing?”

“You’re awake!” he startled before breaking out into a smile. “Good morning.”

He had grabbed his leather jacket and looked like he was about to leave.

“Morning,” you smiled up at him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go to work,” he said. There was a tinge of apology in his voice like he wanted to spend the day with you.

“It’s Saturday,” you complained. It was too early for you to care about being respectful, or care at all about what you were saying. You wanted him to stay.

After that day on the mountainside, you had taken to spending your Saturdays with Javier. He had the day off, so you could go do stuff together. Except, obviously, today.

“I know, but it’s important,” he said. He took a bite of the toast.

“I hate the DEA,” you said. You had hoped you’d get to go out to the market on the other side of town. Javier had promised he’d take you there at some point, he didn’t trust you to go alone. Too dangerous, he said.

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m sorry. You can stay as long as you need. Just lock up.”

“Okay,” you said, “When’ll you be done?”

“I meant you could stay as long as you need to wake up and eat and stuff. You can’t spend all day inside.” Javier opened the door. “We can do lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Bye, Javi.”

“Have a good day,” he said before exiting the apartment.

You pushed the blanket off of yourself and sat up. It hurt, having him leave as soon as you woke up. Not that you were in a position where you could be offended. You were lucky he let you spend the night.

Javier’s attention was something you found yourself almost fighting for, and you knew others must as well. He was charming, young, handsome, and worked for the Embassy. That was the definition of a perfect man in most peoples’ books.

You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, where you grabbed a banana and sat down to eat. This was your 8th time, if you had kept track correctly, spending the night at Javier’s, and you seemed to always get a better nights’ sleep, even on the couch, than you did back at Emiliana’s.

Unfortunately, today was different in that Javier wasn’t there. You missed having him wander around, talking about different things. You missed telling him about work. Sometimes he’d talk about his favorite music or Colombian political secrets, and you’d tell him about how you always managed to find the best restaurants in every city and lecture him about packing a bag for an overnight because whenever he had to go up to Medellín he always overpacked.

As you sat eating, you found yourself wondering what the back half of his apartment looked like.

You walked over to his room and pushed open the door. The smell hit you before you could even notice what it looked like. A combination of sweat and latex and whatever that distinctly _sex_ smell was, and the wave of it was so strong you had a hard time imagining that he _hadn’t_ had sex in the past 8 hours you had been in the apartment.

Usually, that smell dissipated, you were familiar with that. For it to linger?

Your stomach clenched as your mind cleared a bit to notice the big bed in the center of the room and you realized he must have someone else in here almost every day. There’s likely been girls younger than yourself in that bed.

And for some reason, you haven’t been one of those women.

* * *

You’re standing in Javier’s closet, shuffling around in the small space, Javier sitting on his bed beyond the closed door. You had been chatting ever since you arrived at his place after school got out.

You hoped to be able to change out of your work clothes into the outfit that had somehow migrated to Javier’s closet, but the limited space didn’t allow for any speed.

“Hey, um, you have to move out of Emi’s soon, right?” Javier asked, voice muffled through the wood.

“Yeah,” you said, frowning. “I do.”

You had a couple days left and had been lying to Emiliana for a couple weeks now about having a place to stay. You chalked your procrastination up to over-involvement with teaching work and spending the rest of your free time with Javier or out partying. That didn’t fix the fact that in a few days you’d be effectively homeless.

“What are you going to do? You’ve set something up, right?” he said.

You couldn’t outright say no. Not to Javier. He was a decade or so older than you, had things figured out, had dealt with his own fair share of housing problems in the past. To admit that you had ignored this problem would be to admit how naive you were.

“I’ve traveled a lot, you know,” you decided on saying. “Been places where I didn’t know where I was going to sleep for the night.”

“Y/N!” he sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “This is different. You’re working a job, you need something stable.”

“I don’t _do_ stability.” That was as close to a life motto as you had. Living someplace for two months was new territory for you. The prospect of another nine or so was practically impossible to imagine.

“I know, but...” he stopped.

You paused, shirt halfway on, and waited for him to finish his sentence.

“What if you just move in with me?”

“What?” you ask, stunned. You finish putting on your shirt, mind working double time.

“I mean, you practically already live here. Your clothes are here, you eat here. I have a spare bedroom,” he said.

Moving in with Javier? As roommates? It was like some sort of angel and demon joined forces to create a godsend that would also torture you for the rest of the year. And how long was he suggesting this for? Because the nights you spent here were already pushing your limits of staying shut up about how much you wanted to kiss him.

“You know what, forget I said anything. It was a bad idea,” Javier rushed out.

You tensed up. No. You wanted this. Even if he was going to be the death of you.

You slipped on your pants as fast as you could, and flung open the door, throwing yourself onto Javier. He hugged back.

“No,” you said into his shoulder, “It’s a great idea. Thank you.”

* * *

“Where are you headed?” Javier walked out from his room, seeing you grabbing your jacket and purse which had been tossed across the couch earlier that day.

You were wearing the tightest jeans you owned and a cropped tank top, and the feeling of Javier’s eyes swooping over your body was just what you needed. There was no question: you were wearing this outfit to get the attention of someone.

“Dancing,” you responded, keeping it short as not to divulge your feelings. _I’m going out so that I can forget about the fact that I get to sleep in the room next to you but never in your bed_ wasn’t the most appropriate answer.

“Fun.” He was frozen in the opposite corner of the room and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You had been living together for two weeks. You had gone out before. Why was he acting weird about it now? Why was this different?

“You’d hate it,” you said.

He liked going out for drinks but that was his limit. You had learned that the reason Javier was so perplexed by your social tendencies was your comfort around crowds. After years of training and working with the DEA, too many people put him into Agent Peña mode, and while it was useful for self-preservation, it meant his idea of fun usually involved fewer people.

“Maybe not?” he said, walking further into the living room. You furrowed your brow. _What was he going at?_ “The fact that you’d be there makes a pretty compelling argument.”

“Sure it does,” you laughed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a chill down your spine. Your brain helpfully supplied you with the image of Javier in a disco with you, tipsy and on the dance floor, hands around your hips, grabbing at bare skin on your waist and sliding up your leg under a short skirt. The goosebumps crawled up your arms and you shrugged on your jacket.

“I’m not going to be back until tomorrow,” you said.

“Why not?” He actually looked confused and for a moment you felt sorry that he didn’t understand. Until you remembered he was why.

“Um...” You didn’t know how to tell him, _I’m going to go out of my way to fuck someone so that I can forget that I’m falling in love with you_. It hurt everywhere, but mostly in your chest, and you knew staying in this apartment any longer would cause you to explode. Your heart couldn’t handle the sort of torture you were putting it through.

Javier was perfect in all the ways you didn’t think men were capable of. He respected everyone, even the women he paid to have sex with. He was great at being a roommate: sitting down for dinner with you, going out and buying groceries, listening to you vent about your bad days. He was vulnerable, at least within the confines of your apartment, sharing the difficulties of his job in ways you were beginning to understand. He said good night to you every evening with so much tenderness it hurt.

You knew Javier was getting lots of action. It was no secret that before most of the fucking occurred in his living room. Now that you were around he had the decency to always stick to the bedroom if he even had them there. Usually, he would leave for the evening, but sometimes you would get to meet his encounters.

Some of them were young, just over 18 and absolutely stunning, while others were closer to his age and would stay for an hour to smoke with him and talk. It didn’t matter who they were. Only that they were almost always different every time and they each were successful in confirming that you were quite possibly the only girl in Bogotá who wouldn’t get to warm Javier’s bed for a night.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The last time you slept with someone was over a month ago, with Mateo, and your most recent orgasms had been at your own hand with Javier’s name on your lips, face pushed into the pillow, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

Your pause was enough for him to understand you’d be falling asleep in someone else’s bed tonight.

“Right,” he nodded. He stood across from you, hands in his pockets. “Well, stay safe?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You too, Javi. You never know, I leave you alone and you’ll end up setting this whole place on fire or something.”

* * *

Your head was pounding as you woke up, wrapped up in the arms of not one, but two men. As you shuffled around, you realized one was awake, and you mumbled a good morning. The events of the night before weren’t very clear, once you left Javier’s apartment (you still weren’t used to the fact that it was your home, too) you had gotten as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It was a blur of neon lights and hands around your body.

You could remember leaving the disco in a haze, arms wrapped around you. Remember moaning as you rode someone. Remember being held by your waist. By your hair. Remember Javier’s face flooding your mind as you came. Remember biting down on a pillow to keep from shouting out his name.

You looked down at the two men surrounding your body. You weren’t sure if they were together. They might have been? Most men wouldn’t dare sleep in the same bed as another unless they were involved.

You thanked them, wanting to make your leave before it got awkward. Maybe they wanted to have breakfast with you. Debrief. Talk. Sometimes that was custom. You didn’t want to do that. This wasn’t a normal threesome. Not that those existed. But this was you, trying to forget someone, and if that came up in conversation you would feel guilty.

So you gathered your things, got dressed, and left.

Walking the streets of Bogotá in the morning was nice. The fresh air on your skin felt amazing and the smell of fruit wafting through the air was refreshing. You loved the way the city breathed. It didn’t sound or smell like any other city you had been to. You knew you were falling in love with the city itself.

You opened the door to Javier’s and startled at the empty apartment. He was an early riser, and he liked to work in the living room. There was no one there. He must’ve still been asleep.

You entered the kitchen, collapsing into one of the chairs at the table. You grabbed an apple from the bowl and started eating. You didn’t really want to talk to Javier today. Sleeping with someone else hadn’t exactly helped the way you thought it would.

“Javi didn’t mention he had a roommate,” said a voice from behind you, accent thick. English wasn’t their first language.

You turned around, taking in the woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was probably around your age, wearing nothing more than her underwear and one of Javier’s button-downs. She was beautiful. Your stomach flipped.

“Um, yeah. Hi,” you mumble. “And you are?”

“I’m Elena,” she said, smiling. She entered the kitchen like it was her own home and sat down across from you, grabbing another apple from the bowl.

You knew what she was here for. They didn’t usually spend the night. But there was a first for everything, you supposed. You told yourself you had to get used to it. You were roommates, and this was who Javier was. That was something you’d have to learn to accept. It just hurt so much more given the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Nice to meet you, um—”

“Did Javi not tell you I would be here?” she interrupted you. Her brow furrowed a bit and you wondered how long she had been planning to sleep with Javier. 

“No, he, uh,” you stuttered, “He didn’t mention anything.”

“Elena,” called Javier from further back in the apartment, out of sight. “Do you want to have breakfast before my roommate gets back, I don’t really want her to know someone was...”

He had wandered into the kitchen, trailing off as he saw you. He at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Hey, Javi,” you said, swallowing back the pain.

“Y/N? Hi,” he said, “Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t realize you were here.”

Of course he didn’t. You stared up at him. He had on pants but no shirt, and _damn_ if you didn’t want to walk up to him and feel every square inch, trace the side of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest. You glanced away, hoping futilely he hadn’t caught you staring. You looked over at Elena, knowing that she had gotten to do exactly what you wanted.

And you were sitting in between this couple, ruining their morning after.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing back your chair and ushering Javier into your seat. “It’s your place, you should have breakfast.”

“I should go,” Elena said, standing. “I think you two need to work out whatever is going on.”

“No!” you and Javier said at the same time. He looked back at you.

“Stay,” you said, not wanting for Javier to say anything that would completely screw over your day. “I need to take a shower, I’ll make myself scarce.”

You turn around and walk away, knowing that the two are starting at your back, still wearing the skimpy outfit you had on as you left the night before.

Upon entering your room, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. This was exactly why you didn’t stay in one place for too long. When you were traveling, there was no time for feelings to develop, anything that happened was casual. You didn’t have to deal with pining in silence for months as someone flirted meaninglessly back at you.

You had dug yourself into this hole, agreeing to the job at the school, and now you wished you hadn’t. Getting to be around Javier was a blessing, some days you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to get to meet someone so perfect. But nothing made sense. Why did this guy, years older than you, offer to spend his time with you, even give up his privacy and let you live with him, but stay so painfully distant? What was it about you that he didn’t want?

The sound of laughter erupted from the direction of the kitchen and you sank to the floor, wishing you could go back to when you said yes to living here and stop yourself. You’d rather be back at a shitty hostel than feeling this.


	4. april: melt

You had lost track of the number of times the news mentioned breaking a record high temperature for Bogotá. You hadn’t come to a tropical mountain valley for hot weather, only year-round warmth.

It had gotten unbearable. And it seemed almost everyone in the city felt the same way. None of the buildings were constructed to withstand temperatures over 30 degrees celsius, and it was reaching 35. You walked to work and had to bring a change of clothes so you wouldn’t be offending anyone with the quantity of sweat dripping down your back, and many of the other teachers did the same.

Which was why you found yourself on a Saturday afternoon, draped across the couch in Javier’s apartment, wearing not much more than a camisole and a skirt. You couldn’t be bothered to get up and turn on the television, and earlier you had set up a fan to blow right at you, it was the coolest you had felt the entire week. Javier had done the same and was sitting on the reclining chair, a mere four feet away from you, another fan plugged into the wall causing the papers in his lap to exist in a permanent state of fluttering. You pitied that he still had work to do, and you _should_ have been grading tests but it was too hot to make elementary-aged children sit through an exam you would have to eventually grade in an apartment that didn’t even have air conditioning.

“Fuck the embassy,” you said, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“Why?” Javier groaned, “What did they do to _you?_ ”

“Gave you an apartment without AC.”

Javier laughed. “Right. They’re absolutely criminal.”

“Exactly! It’s a violation of your _rights_ as a federal agent.”

“Please point me to the place in my contract that says I’ve got to be housed with AC because I’d love to bring it up with the ambassador.”

You glanced down to give Javier a narrow stare. From this angle, it looked like you were glaring at him, and not ogling at the bead of sweat that was trailing sinfully down his neck and gliding over his collarbone before slipping underneath the white shirt he wore. You didn’t want to risk getting kicked out to the streets if he found out you were eying him like candy every spare minute, but you were fucked the moment he asked you to move in, and at this point, you had no self-restraint. If he wanted you to stop staring, he would have to stop looking like the Greek god of sweaty Colombian air and sensual nights of passion.

You weren’t one to think more than a few weeks ahead, but it was getting so bad you were beginning to wonder if you could last until you left Colombia at the end of the year without doing something that would utterly ruin the friendship you had.

“Do the agents at the actual embassy complexes get AC?”

“How the fuck would I know? Not like I have any friends to visit over there,” he said, looking up from his work and making eye contact with you. “You could have chosen to live in a house with AC.”

“Only place that took up my offer didn’t have it.”

“You didn’t put out any offers, Y/N. And I didn’t take up yours, you took up mine.”

“Fair point.”

You looked back up at the ceiling. Damn it. You had to learn to stop _pushing_ so much. It was just so hot and your tempers were off the charts and you knew Javier was not in the mood to be chatty. Conversations that should have been easy and calm, like this one, had that underlying twinge of anger and frustration. And it wasn’t just from him. The two of you had been on edge since the temperature had started going up and hadn’t stopped.

“Do you wanna go out for ice cream?” Javier said.

You shot up, propping yourself up on your elbows and raising an eyebrow. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah, it’s hot, we both need to relax.” He shrugged like it was a normal thing for him to suggest. Javier had a sweet tooth but he was too serious about everything to go out like that.

“Really?”

“Of course. I’ll buy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Waking up to the news that there was yet another day of weather that made you wish you were working somewhere you could wear shorts at was not setting you up for a good day.

Thankfully, as one of the only teachers under 25, you could get away with some pants and a t-shirt as long as you wore a jacket, but that was _not_ going to happen when it was this hot. You spent the morning rummaging around for a skirt that was long enough to teach in, and when you found it you decided you’d wear a tank top and a light cardigan. No one could be complaining about bare shoulders with this weather, right?

You took your time in the bathroom, pressing a wet washcloth over your face and chest, trying to find temporary release from the heat.

It was awful.

You could feel yourself moving slower and slower as you trudged through the apartment. The light filtered in from the windows, orange and yellow and it seemed to laugh at you. It looked like a bright summer day, but the reality was much worse. It was feverish. You felt yourself growing dizzy and the prospect of walking to work then having to spend 8 hours in a brick building full of complaining children.

The couch looked tempting, but you had spent most of the weekend there and knew even with a fan pointed at you, getting off of the shiny leather at the end of the day felt like ripping off a bandaid from your sweat-slick skin. 

“Contemplating going back to bed?”

You looked up from the seating to see Javier smirking in the doorway to the kitchen. He wore his baggy work pants, but nothing else. It looked stupid but you weren’t complaining. If you had to die at work today, at least you got to see Javier’s chest one last time.

“Seriously giving it a thought,” you said. You brushed past him as you walked into the kitchen.

“Today’s the only day I’d go for some paperwork. I don’t want to be outside longer than I have to.” He sat down at the table and resumed eating his breakfast. “I can’t even have coffee to wake me up, it’s too hot.”

“Maybe you should drink it with ice,” you smirked before going for some yogurt and fruit.

You sat down across from Javier and started eating. It was slow-going and as you ate you could feel your consciousness slipping away. The sweat was already starting to pool across your back and in between your breasts and it wasn’t comfortable. You brought the spoon to your mouth and started feeling dizzy. You set it back down and placed your hands on the table.

“You okay?” Javier’s brow was furrowed.

“It’s just so hot, I’m not going to make it to work.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re from the USA, we have hotter summers in almost every state.”

“I’ve been in Europe since June. It doesn’t get hot. And here? Also doesn’t get hot,” you complained.

Javier leaned back on his chair. “The worst damn part is trying to sleep. It doesn’t get cool enough to use even a sheet. You fall asleep sweaty and wake up sweaty and none of it’s restful.”

The way he was spread out on the chair gave you a perfect view of his tan skin, every gentle curve and edge. You tried to avert your gaze, stare at the bowl of yogurt, but it was too tempting. And he put the damn image of him spread out and sweaty in bed in your head. Damn him.

With a frustrated groan, he stood up and threw open the freezer. You stared at him, confused, as he pulled out an ice tray and slammed it on the countertop, hard enough to dislodge a couple of the cubes. He picked up one and held it between his fingers, staring out the window through the ice for a moment before bringing it to his chest. He sighed. He fucking _sighed_ and it went straight in between your thighs.

The ice cube began to melt as he ran it across his chest, pausing on his sharp collarbone and running down his sternum. The glistening trail it left on his skin was impossibly sensual and the soft sounds he made only worsened your arousal. Did Javier know what he was doing?

Your eyes remained on his chest. You weren’t even trying to hide your stare.

The ice had shrunk noticeably and was now dripping down his fingers and wrist as it was reduced to little more than a glassy sliver before disappearing entirely.

“Did you want one?”

Javier was looking at you now and you startled, having been caught.

“I—uh—I would, yes. I would like one,” you stammered, standing up.

He reached over to the tray and grabbed another cube. Javier walked over to you and you held out your hand. But he bypassed that entirely, placing it himself on the top of your exposed shoulder.

The ice was refreshingly cool on your hot skin, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with Javier’s body right in front of your own, his hand an inch away from you. He moved the ice torturously slow down your collar, tracing your exposed chest, around your breasts and back up to the other shoulder. He was staring at your eyes and you didn’t know where to look, knowing only that you couldn’t return his gaze. It would make things too real.

He lifted the cube over the strap of your top and slid the ice down your arm. It was rapidly melting and left a thick trail of water dripping down your arm.

Still looking around for a place for your gaze to rest, your eyesight drifted over Javier’s, and his eyes were dark and wide, glued to the point where the ice met your skin and transformed to a fluid as it moved along the curve of your forearm. His gaze burned where it fell, clashing with the sharp cool of the ice. You settled your gaze on his chest, sure he wouldn’t notice, or likely even care.

Your breathing slowed. You weren’t sure what any of this meant but it felt like things were changing.

He reached down and held your hand in his own, flipping your palm up and placing the now small sliver of ice on the thin skin of your wrist. You inhaled.

The ice cube disappeared.

Javier’s fingers were light in their hold but the pads of his fingertips rough on your skin. Come to think of it, you hadn’t really felt Javier like this. Ever.

The hand that held the ice moved over top of your palm, and your hand was sandwiched between his own.

You looked up, Javier was staring back at _you_ , not your arm.

It was too overwhelming. You wanted to push up onto your toes and kiss him, wrap your arms around his chest, feel every curve of his back, sink into him. But you were friends and you were sitting here, feeling more aroused than you had ever felt and he was barely even touching you.

“I...I’m going to be late for work,” you stammer out, pulling out of his hold and taking your cardigan off the back of your chair. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you after work.”

You turned around and exited the kitchen aware of the burn of his gaze on your back.

* * *

Work had been awful. Ever since the day with the ice, you and Javier hadn’t been talking as much. The temperature had only risen over the week and you would go to work, frustrated you hadn’t gotten to vent to Javier like you used to, only to have another blisteringly hot day and return home to a silent house, dinners alone in your separate rooms.

Had it been a couple weeks earlier, you would have been going out and getting drunk, but you didn’t want to frustrate Javier more. He never liked when you went out. Always asked you too many questions. And then you’d come home and he’d be sitting on the couch looking sad. You didn’t want to do that to him any more than you had to.

Today was so much worse because, despite the temperature dipping a bit, a kid passed out in your class today. He hadn’t been drinking enough water, no one really had. After school was let out, you had sat at your desk until you had fully calmed down from the whole thing. The adrenaline pumping through your veins in the moment had turned malevolent as soon as you were alone, your body shaking and the event replaying in your head again and again. Almost all the teachers had left by the time you had calmed down enough. The kid was fine. You were fine. You had done the right thing.

Emiliana had stopped by to say hello, and she had sat with you for a few minutes, making sure you drank some water before wishing you well.

When you finally got home it was, for one of the first times, _after_ Javier.

You could hear the shower running as you dropped your bag on the table near the door and dragged yourself to your room. Javier had a good idea, and you knew especially if he was out on a raid or something, the heat right now would have been really rough. Cooling down would be your first priority too.

And it was as you opened up your closet and pulled out the shortest shorts you owned and a cropped tank top. You slipped out of your itchy blouse and pants, and laid on the bed for a minute, letting the temperature of your skin lower. The house was a bit cooler than it was that morning, probably due to the fan Javier had left running all day and the cool air wafting out of the bathroom. It still meant with only a slip of denim around your waist and an old thin top on, even having skipped the bra, you were warmer than you would have liked.

You pushed yourself up. You hadn’t heard the bathroom door open yet, which meant you could go out to the kitchen to grab something to eat without having to see _him_. 

You jump off the bed, walk over and exit your room, running right into Javier, who was leaving the bathroom, the door right across the hall from your own.

Stepping backward you mumbled a quick apology.

“S’fine,” Javier said.

You looked down. He was fully dressed but his hair was still wet, dripping into a damp ring around the collar of his shirt. Suddenly you felt very exposed in your outfit. Most of your legs, arms, chest, and stomach were visible. And here Javier was, wearing pants and a _button-down_. Not even the t-shirts he would only wear when in the privacy of his home.

Probably meant he was going out.

“Um, how was work?” You look back up at him.

“Good. Busy,” he said. “You?”

“A, uh, a kid fainted,” you said. “In class. Cause of the heat.”

It was kind of funny, looking back, no matter how traumatized you were.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. These were more words than you had exchanged in a single day since the ice incident. You didn’t want to risk more. More could ruin this, this progress, if you could call it that.

But Javier took a step closer to you and reached out both his hands to hold your arms. It was light and gentle but it was _suffocating_.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to open your mouth.

One hand loosened its grip and slid off your arm and onto your waist, dragging his fingertips over the skin and then onto the denim of your shorts before slipping over your ass and gently squeezing.

You let out a sound akin to a stifled moan before freezing.

His hand continued to land on the sensitive back of your thigh.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks and you knew a switch had been flipped. Javier had to know what he was doing. Had to know what effect he had on you. And you, as much as you tried to hide it, had given yourself away.

You stared up into Javier’s eyes. He had a way of looking at you that made you feel seen, and today was no different except it bored deeper. It didn’t just make you think he could read your thoughts, but his gaze gave the impression that he understood and felt everything you were feeling. Could he tell you were already growing wet? That if he moved his goddamn fingers on your leg a fucking millimeter you might turn to jelly in his arms?

And then, like some heat-induced hallucination, Javier’s lips were on yours, biting and intense. And you let him have everything.

He was pushing you back into his room before you could get a handle on things and you were falling backward, hoping there was a bed beneath you or Javier would brace your fall. You landed on the light sheets, bouncing slightly on the mattress. Javier was crawling on top of you, one arm next to your head and the other underneath you, holding your ass as he connected your hips.

You had wanted this for so long. Literal months of wondering if he felt the same, if Javier would ever take you in with the vicious voracity he did now.

You let him keep kissing you as you moved your hands up to start unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers grazing over his skin between buttons. You couldn’t control the little moans and whimpers you were letting out and you could tell they had an effect on Javier.

He sat up to fully remove his shirt, throwing it across the room, and then he was at the edge of your own shirt, pulling it up and off of you, revealing your bare chest.

His hands fell down on your rib cage and he held you at arm’s length for a moment. Savoring you underneath him.

“God, Y/N, you have no idea—” he cut himself off. “You’re beautiful.”

Before you could respond he was pulling down your shorts and panties in one swift motion. He palmed at your wet cunt, mumbling something you couldn’t hear over the sound of your own moans. He didn’t need much more than that to slip a finger into you.

“Javi—fuck,” you moan. His hand shoots down to palm your breasts as a second finger enters you, his thumb coming down hard on your clit, rubbing delicious circles.

“Wanted you, like this,” he breathed out, “Here. Spread out. Fuck—you’re stunning, Y/N.”

Every word was punctuated with a bestial curl of his fingers, your hips moving up and down with his rough fingerfucking.

His hand moved faster, and the pressure of his thumb on your clit increased. You felt your core tightening, shocks of intensity coursed through the lower half of your body.

You hadn’t gotten laid in a few weeks now. The last was the threesome you had that ended with you returning to one of Javier’s women. You knew he had brought a few more girls over that week, but the visits had ceased shortly after.

You had lost track of the nights where he disappeared, presumably to others’ homes, or even more likely, the brothels, but it had seemed as if those had let up too.

Javier leans down to take one of your breasts in his mouth, taking care to play with the nipple of the other with his free hand.

A crook of his fingers sent your arms flying, one grasping at the back of his neck, the other scraping lines down his back, eliciting a deep rumbling moan against your chest. Any restraint you had left was gone, as you shouted out Javier’s name, his fingers working at a quickening pace and you tensed around him.

He rubbed a quick pattern across your clit, and the waves of pleasure that radiated throughout your body caused you to roll your hips into him, obtaining even more friction than you needed to send you over, your entire body tensing as Javier continued to push at the sensitive point until your body started to relax and he slowed his fingers.

You continued shaking underneath him as Javier pulled out his fingers, sitting up and letting you watch as he places them in his own mouth, sucking clean your juices from his digits. He licked each finger slowly, and you felt the arousal begin to build up again.

He stared, fingers dropping from his mouth, almost challenging you to do something. To make the next move. One which came easy to you as your hands went straight to his belt, unbuckling and unbuttoning and unzipping so you could pull away the fabric and release his cock which had been straining against his boxers.

You roll over and get up, crawling up to him so you can reach up and grab his cock with one hand, eliciting the most amazing sound you had ever heard, a moan from Javier’s lips, something wild and carnal. And as you swirled your tongue over the tip, you heard it again, and again, and again.

You wrapped your lips around him, humming softly as you bobbed up and down, and a hand rested gently on the back of your head pressing you in, taking him deeper as you fought your gag reflex. You swallowed around him and continued pumping your hand. The sounds he made had you practically dripping, wanting him inside you, wanting to feel him stretching you out. But this was about him after he so preciously drove you up and over the edge.

“Careful—” he said, the word coming out sharp. “If you—If you keep—I’m gonna. Wanna—fuck. Wanna be in you.”

At that, you wanted nothing more than for him to push you back, fuck you against the mattress, cause you to orgasm under him again and again.

You pulled off with a pop.

And with that his hands were around your waist, lying you back down on your back. He was hovering near your entrance, one hand next to your chest, propping himself up. He stared down at you, eyes dark and lustful, and a drop of water from his still-shower-wet hair fell on your neck.

“Are you—can I?” he breathed.

“Yes, Javi, please.” You nodded. _Always for you, Javi. Been ready for ages._

When he entered you, it was to your exhale. _Finally_. He filled you the way you let yourself imagine as you fucked your own fingers on your bed, stretched you the way you dreamt he would, felt perfect inside you the way you woke up in the morning hoping he would.

He didn’t fuck you with the raw passion you had brought each other to the edge to. It was with an ardent and consuming roll of his hips as he held you in his arms, your chests pressed against one another.

He didn’t stop when you shuddered beneath him, breathing out his name against his lips. He didn’t stop when his rapid pace brought you to orgasm again. You didn’t stop when his hips stuttered into you, and you reached your hands down to his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel him deep within your core. He didn’t pull out when you were both spent, trading an afterglow for feverishly impassioned kisses. You traced patterns on his back and felt him harden again inside of you. He swirled circles around your nipples and you bucked your hips up.

You stayed like that for the better part of the afternoon and evening. The day mixing into a haze of heat and sweat and lazy kisses that turned into him slamming into you for a sweet period before you both collapsed, only to start the cycle again.

The only breaks were to slip out to the bathroom before falling back into each other's arms for another round, and for Javier to slip out and bring some food back into his bed for you to eat dinner.

You spent long periods lying across from one another, a foot or so between you, allowing yourselves to cool down. Your fingers caressing his side, his chest, and his face the only point of contact between you.

Javier was lying on his back next to you when the sun had long past set and you were both realizing the following day meant more work, not the grace of the weekend, and you had whispered you should try to fall asleep.

“Why did I wait so long?” he whispered, and you weren’t sure if it was directed to you or the still air of the night.

You waited to see if he would continue. When he didn’t, you asked, “Wait for what?”

There was no response. You turned your head over to see Javier’s eyes closed, his chest rising and falling, giving no clue to the throes of passion you were engaged in hours before.

You wanted to curl up next to him, place your head on his chest or wrap an arm around him. Did Javier want that? You were beginning to think he might. One night. Maybe. When the air dropped a few degrees and you could rest easily under the sheets. At least he wasn’t kicking you out of his bed. For now, you settled for falling asleep beside him. And if your hand drifted over to his during the night, or your legs intertwined, you weren’t going to say a word.


	5. may: storm

Your vision was still blurry with sleep as Javier’s tongue slid between your folds, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. One hand had your thigh pinned to the mattress while your free leg was hooked over Javier’s shoulder as he gripped your hip. How he was doing making you feel this way without his hands on you, you had no idea. You were just thankful that he was a well-experienced man.

His tongue brushed over your clit and your whole body convulsed, hips tilting up searching for more contact. And Javier provided. You could feel your core tightening with arousal, and your little noises increased in volume and frequency. Then his mouth was suctioned around your clit and he started sucking and you weren’t even orgasming yet but your vision almost cut to white with the overload of information firing up your nerves.

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ , Javi!” you screamed, your legs spasming.

The pressure on your thigh increased, and you were amazed at how strong those arms were. As you felt yourself teetering on the edge, about to spill over, Javier pulled back, fully releasing yourself from his dominating tongue.

The sound of your heavy breaths filled the air, sharp exhales punctuating the silent Monday morning air.

“Javi,” you whispered, “Why? Please... keep going.”

“You’re going to be late for work,  _ cariño.”  _ His words sent puffs of air across your cunt and you moaned.

“You can’t just stop,” you whined. He was right but you didn’t care. Ever since he pushed you onto his bed a few weeks ago you couldn’t get enough of each other. You hadn’t ever spoken about what was going on, content to keep on fucking each others’ brains out every chance you could get.

“You lose your job, and then what?” Javier asked, and you knew by then he was teasing you.

“Just shut it and finish me off,” you giggled before you were cut off by Javier’s tongue returning to you. Within seconds he had you worked up again, your one leg straining against his grip, the other pushing him closer into you.

The heat radiated out from your core up your spine and down your limbs, filling your body with a tingling sensation, itching to be let out. You grasped at the sheets beneath you, trying to find hold to still yourself as Javier’s motions quickened. Before long you were tightening up, both hands flying to his soft curls, causing him to hum against you. It was that hum that sent you over, the orgasm coursing through you in waves.

It left you limp on the bed, Javier still mouthing at you until you let go of his head. His hold on your leg was loose, his thumb tracing little circles on the delicate skin of your thigh. He stared up at the rise and fall of your bare chest.

“You’re the most fucking beautiful...” he said.

You stared down at him between your legs, grinning up at you. You let out a light laugh. His hair was messed up from the night’s sleep and his mustache glistened with sweat and drops of your own arousal.

“Yeah?” you smiled. “You’re... incredible, Javi.”

“And you’re going to be late for work.” He sighed and then propped himself up on his elbows before pushing himself all the way up and sliding off the bed, one arm extended, an offer to pull you up.

“Can’t I reciprocate?” you whined. You wanted to pretend it wasn’t Monday.

“Save it for later today,” he reached down to grab your arm and tugged.

“Fine.” You let him help you onto your feet, swaying slightly with the lasting aftereffects of the orgasm. “But I’ve got an all-school meeting after classes. Going to be later than usual.”

“That’s fine,” he said, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you into a hug.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before you pulled away to go to the bathroom. He tapped your bare ass as you slipped out of his grip and you flipped him off over your shoulder, laughing.

* * *

You walked out of your shared bedroom, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. A couple of the other young teachers had invited you out to a disco, and you were never one to turn down a night of dancing.

The dress was your favorite for nights out, short skirt and low neckline. You weren’t afraid to say it: the dress made you look downright sexy. A night out in it was always a good idea, giving you the confidence to dance a little wilder, drink a little more, talk to a few more people.

You entered the living room where Javier was pouring over some papers from work, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The smoke wafted up above him, a personal cloud that emulated the frustrated mood he had been in the past week. You two still slept in the same bed, but further apart. The touches were few and far between. It was something you would have to deal with, an occupational hazard of his, but it still sucked.

Javier never talked about details. Work was always vague and coded. You knew it was because of confidentiality. He couldn’t risk anything getting out. Sometimes you took it personally like it meant he didn’t trust you. But then other nights he would lie next to you and tell you how stressed he was. How he hated seeing the bodies of the people he had shot, their lifeless eyes staring back at him. How he knew he didn’t have to look, but he thought he owed it to them. He didn’t think there were many people on the list of those who should have to die, and every bullet that left his gun was another name on a gravestone that shouldn’t have been carved. He trusted you. But only with his emotions.

It was this cloud hanging over Javier that led you to accept the invitation out. A week before, when you were amidst the warm haze of happiness swirling around Javier and you, there was no reason to go out, only thousands of reasons to come home sooner and spent countless hours in the presence of the man who had become your best friend. But lately, it was like he wasn’t there. At least not 100%. You didn’t  _ need _ to go out, but it wouldn’t hurt. It would be nice to catch up with your coworkers. Relax.

You had your purse in your hand and were grabbing a light jacket off of the hook near the door when you heard the creaking of leather that signified Javier standing up. You turned around to see him, his eyes scanning your outfit before settling on your chest.

“Eyes up here, Casanova.” You smirked.

“You’re going out dressed like  _ that? _ ” He said, and you were shocked by the surprise in his voice. He had seen you go out plenty over the past couple months and knew you weren’t one to shy away from a skimpy outfit.

“Of course?” You said.

“Why?”

“I want to?” you shrugged. “I’m going out dancing. Haven’t been in a couple weeks.”

He had stepped out from behind the couch and was a few feet in front of you now. “So you’re going out to get drunk, dance, make some stupid decisions, and grind up against a bunch of guys?”

What the  _ hell _ did that mean? What did he want? To start arguing?

“Yeah,” you said, trying and failing to keep your cool. You were mad. Javier had been so distant this past week and he had the  _ nerve _ to question your actions. To try to control you? “Minus the grinding against a bunch of guys part, yes. Some of the younger teachers are meeting up. Girls night out. And yeah, we’re going to get drunk, dance, and probably make some stupid decisions. So what?”

“And you have to wear something like  _ that?” _ Javier spat out.

You pressed your eyes shut.  _ He didn’t mean it,  _ you told yourself, repeating it in your head, hoping it would become believable.

“I like how I look in it, Javi. Is that a crime?” You threw up your hands. It took all your energy not to let the tears spill over. This was  _ your  _ dress. The perfect one. And here he was saying shit, insinuating that it made you look less than representable. 

“No, it’s just—”

“You know what?  _ No, _ ” you forced out. “I don’t like how I feel in this anymore. I’ll go change. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You pushed past him and rushed back to the bedroom where you slammed the door close. Only then did you let the tears out.  _ Javier was being an asshole because of work. He’s been like this all week. He didn’t mean to take it out on you. _

The dress didn’t feel sexy anymore. It felt something awful. You didn’t want to put a name to it, but your brain supplied the word ‘slutty’ and you hated yourself for that. You pulled it off like it was made of scratchy wool.

Back in the closet, you found a pair of jeans that made your ass look great and a top that you used to wear on nights out back in Paris all the time.

You heard a door slam shut.

If Javier wasn’t in the living room, you could slip out unnoticed. You peaked out and saw the light pouring out from underneath the door to the bathroom. Good.

It was only when you were out on the street, walking towards where you were supposed to meet your friends did you notice the fat drops of rain that had begun to sporadically fall and you remembered that you left your jacket back at the apartment.

* * *

You shivered in the small bed that hadn’t been slept in in weeks. By the time you made it home, the rain had picked up leaving you soaked. Javier’s words from a couple days before echoed in your head,  _ “April we might have gotten lucky, but it is the rainy season, and it’s going to come down hard.” _

You weren’t sure if you could consider April’s heatwave  _ lucky _ , but it wasn’t torrential downpours, so you weren’t sure which you would choose. You probably wouldn’t have been wearing the tank top and shorts that one day if it was raining. Probably wouldn’t have caught Javier’s eye. Probably wouldn’t have landed on Javier’s bed. So maybe you’d take a heatwave.

It was better than coming home, soaked to the bone and freezing cold, to a silent and dark apartment. You were decently sober, having not drank much on account of Javier’s words earlier that day, and the rain having washed away the rest of your tipsy sway. You had taken a hot shower, and while you wanted to crawl in next to Javier where it was warm and comfortable, you weren’t sure if you were welcome.

The guest room that you had slept in for a month or so before you ended up in Javier’s every night lay empty and you had figured it was still, technically, your room, despite all of your belongings having migrated out of it.

It wasn’t as comfortable as it was next to Javier. You missed even the distant way he lay on the other side of the bed the past week. At least he had been there.

Your hair was still wet from the shower and even though the water had been warm, you were cold again.

Then the thunder cracked open in a cacophony of sound. It began as a low rumble that sent off warning signs in your head and steadily grew until it was all one could hear. Not even a gunshot going off next to your head would be heard over the sound. Your body gave off the response it always did in a thunderstorm: every muscle flexing and releasing as your chest tightened.

Ever since you were a kid, thunderstorms had scared the  _ shit _ out of you. Even as an adult, you were never able to shake the terror that filled your body when you heard that particular rumbling sound. Your parents thought it was loud noises that would set you off, but they were proven wrong every New Year’s Eve when you watched fireworks in awe. There was something about the electricity coursing through the sky that shook you to your core.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you and squeezed your eyes shut, tears spilling out between the cracks. Of all the nights for you and Javier to fight...

The bed was the cherry on top. You hadn’t slept there in weeks. Even though you and Javier hadn’t even labeled what you were doing, the one thing you could be sure of was that whatever you were, it involved sleeping in the same bed every night, even if you didn’t have sex. And you were now trying to calm yourself in a foreign room, on a bed that didn’t offer comfort, but a reminder of its absence.

The curtains didn’t keep you from catching the way the sky lit up in an instant. You braced yourself, and seconds later the low rumbling began again. You curled into a ball and let out a loud sob as the thunder turned from bass to treble with its whip-like crack.

That was it. You couldn’t stay in the bed. Javier might not have even wanted to talk with you, but it didn’t matter because you were still pushing yourself up and running to Javier’s room. You pushed open the door. Completely dark.

“Javi?” you asked into the room.

“What?” He responded after a few seconds. His voice was groggy and sharp with a tone of annoyance. You felt bad for waking him up.

“I’m scared,” you couldn’t make any effort to mask how your voice held the shadow of tears.

That sound was enough for Javi to be jumping up and rushing up towards you, his arms reaching around your body, pulling you in, tight and secure.

“Hey.” His voice had changed. This was now gentle and caring. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. Breath with me? Okay? In... and out.”

You took the breaths along with him, the feeling of his chest rising against you helped calm you down. A hand reached up to the back of your head, pressing softly and you rested your head on his shoulder. The two of you stood there in the doorway, silent. Any other time, you would have had a million questions about your argument, but they all slipped away as he soothed your fears.

Until the thunder cracked again, and something outside, probably a powerline, exploded. You flinched and your breathing became uneven once more.

Javier squeezed you before releasing his grip and tugging your arm over towards the bed, where he lay down, pulling you with him. He pulled the covers up over you and wrapped his arms around your torso.

“You’re safe,” he said.

How was he so good at this? People always said shit like ‘it’s just a storm’ or ‘it’s nothing to be scared of’ which never helped because you knew it was irrational, yet you still suffered the fear. Javier, on the other hand, was almost a professional at calming you down.

Lying in his arms, his words manifested. The room lit up with a flash of lightning, giving you a glimpse at Javier’s face, sorrowful and soft. You buried your head in his chest, the warmth radiating off from him acting as a shield from the storm. The thunder rumbled again and you inhaled and exhaled as Javier pulled you in a little tighter. You were safe. Javier was safe.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered.

Your brow furrowed. What was he talking abou—oh. Your argument. All the anger had slipped out of you as he held you tight. You had spent the evening dancing but as the hours passed, you regretted getting worked up over it. Wished you were back in the apartment with Javier.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You looked beautiful. You always do. I was frustrated with work and took it out on you. It’s not fair.”

You were glad there weren’t any lights on because he would have seen you start crying again. But this time it was with a smile on your lips.

“I forgive you,” you whispered before his thumb rubbing circles on your back lulled you to sleep.

* * *

Javier had come back to the apartment late and said he needed to go out and do something. To which you had said something about not being his mother. He actually laughed, for the first time in a few days, and said that he wanted you to come with him.

You hadn’t expected that to lead you to where you were, standing up on the mountainside, right where he had brought you back when you were still getting to know each other, staring out over Bogotá.

Or rather, staring out over the sea of clouds that had been hanging low in the valley for weeks.

Where you stood was sunny. Something you hadn’t experienced in a while. Not with the ever-present rain.

The whole drive up you kept telling Javier that you wouldn’t be able to see anything. And he kept saying that he thought you did have a chance of seeing something.

“When you said we would see  _ something, _ ” you said, “I didn’t expect that something to be more clouds.”

“It’s better than being under them, right?” Javier said from back where the car was parked, rummaging around in the trunk.

You stood closer to the edge, and Javier walked towards you. Turning to face him, you saw a blanket in one of his hands, a large bag in the other.

“Care for a picnic?” He held up the items.

“A picnic?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I know it’s in between lunch and dinner but you’re usually hungry after work and I thought we could use a little break?”

You laughed and shook your head as he set down the bag and tossed the blanket to the ground, struggling to get it to lie flat.

The two of you sprawled out on the surface, and Javier opened up the bag, setting out a couple plates and cups along with some hastily packed containers of fruits, arepas, rice, and a variety of meats and beans and a bunch of whatever leftovers the two of you had in the fridge. And underneath it all was a bottle of wine.

“Javi,” you said, “You didn’t have to do all of this. It’s so...”  _ romantic.  _ That’s what was making your stomach do flips and turns.

“So... what?”

“Nothing. It’s just a lot of work,” you shook your head and smiled through the lie.

Your relationship, if you could call it that, was a lot of things, but it wasn’t romantic. It was two friends with takeout and a six-pack watching Bruce Lee movies before fucking each other on the sofa. Picnics on a mountainside with nice wine was not territory you were ready for.

Yet here you were.

He poured you each a glass and then you began eating and talking. You must have spent a half-hour lazily snacking and chatting before starting to put the empty dishes back in the back. Then you were back to laying on the blanket, side by side, taking in the sun.

It was admittedly very nice.

Javier propped himself up on one arm, staring down at you.

“The way the sun hits you right now?” he said, smiling. “It’s beautiful.”

He reached down to caress your jaw before dipping his head down and taking your lips in his. He lowered himself over top of you. You kept kissing him, and you weren’t sure where you ended and Javier began. It was a serendipitous blend of lips and tongue and teeth, arms over torsos, legs intertwined. At one point you rolled over to be above him, and it was then that you could feel the extent of his arousal, pushing into your upper thigh.

You felt the same but had no urge to rush things along.

When the time did come, Javier having returned to his previous position above you, his attention now on your collarbone, lips wet and sweet against the sensitive skin, and your head was tilted back, swollen lips parted, his hands slipped under your shirt, pushing the fabric up and then over your head.

The rest of your clothes came off as smoothly and quietly as the first, as did Javier’s, and he was then right there. All of him. Hot skin pressed against your own.

“Is this okay?” he asked. His head was back above yours, lips ghosting over your own, and his mustache tickled your upper lip.

“Yes.”

When he entered you he caught your lips again and held you in his arms. You could feel every inch of Javier, both inside you and outside, skin against skin. Your fingers dug into and explored his hips, his back, his waist, his neck. Every thrust drew out a moan or a ragged breath that was matched by Javier.

And there was something different about things, an afternoon alone on top of a mountain, breathing in fresh air, the wine in your veins slowing everything down a little bit. You knew that this changed things. It was a step away from friends who fucked. A step closer to friends who... you weren’t sure. Or maybe friends wasn’t the right word anymore.

_ This is a casual relationship, _ you told yourself as he thrust in deeper.

_ You were taking the place of the many others who would be warming both your beds if you didn’t have one another _ , you told yourself as his hips stalled and he groaned the way he always did when he came.

_ It’s entirely casual _ , you told yourself as you came around him, his mouth on yours muffling the moans of pleasure.

Then why did it feel like you were making love?


	6. june: ecstasy

“You’ve got a couple weeks off for the June vacations, right?” Javier’s voice was warm and golden in your ear, the puffs of breath landing on the bare skin of your shoulder as you cuddled in bed together.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any plans?”

You shuffled around in Javier’s arms so you could face him. It was a cold Sunday morning in Bogotá, and neither of you wanted to leave the cocoon of heat you had created between your bodies and the layers of fabric draped above you.

Since you had moved into Javier’s bed you were surprised by the quality of the bedding. He wasn’t the type to put much care into style or quality of anything, rather prioritizing functionality. Nothing was  _ ugly _ , it just wasn’t the epitome of a well-cared-for home. The apartment was a sanctuary of rewinding at the end of the day with a bottle of beer, feet propped up on the coffee table. And yet his sheets were of the highest quality you could find, and the blankets weren’t the usual mismatched scratchy fleeces or afghans you were used to, rather a nice duvet set for the cold nights and a light, handwoven blanket for the warm ones.

It made it nearly impossible to think of leaving Javier’s arms on mornings like this. All you wanted to do was to lie here, wrapped up in his smell and warmth forever.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You hadn’t actually been thinking of plans beyond a vague couple of ideas. You lived a few days in advance when it came to free time.

“Like, traveling or something? Sounds like the kind of thing you would do,” he said. And he was right. It was.

“I, um, yeah. I’ve been thinking about going down to Ecuador for a bit? Not really sure,” you said. That was really the truth. Ecuador was something you thought of just seconds before you said the words, and you truely had no idea what you would be doing the following weeks. “I guess I assumed I’d take the time to drift a bit, like I used to.”

“Right,” he said. But something sounded off. He sounded like the idea of you taking a vacation was somehow not in line with his plans. His eyes were also focusing anywhere but your face.

“Not that I need to ask your permission to leave or anything, but, is that okay with you? You know? I don’t want to leave you alone here if...” you trailed off.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he said, staring right below your eyes. “I was just thinking that maybe I’d take a week off of work. If I planned something... would you come with me? A vacation? Unless you were planning something, we don’t have to at all.”

His rush to finish the sentence left him holding his breath as he waited for an answer. And you were taken aback as you processed his words. Javier taking you on a vacation? It sounded more romantic than anything you had ever done before, but who knew what Javier would want to do on a vacation. And if he was willing to use his vacation days to spend time with you, then you were inclined to accept.

“Javi, that would be— I’d love that,” you said.

“Really?” The way the smile lit up his face was enough to say yes to him a million more times.

“Yeah, if you can get the time off,” and you were smiling now too, “I love spending time with you.”

* * *

You walked into the hotel lobby and were immediately awestruck. The floor practically  _ shone _ and on the tall ceiling hung a brassy chandelier. The furniture was white with dark legs and the tall windows only served to further brighten the room.

Javier led you to the front desk where a woman, no older than yourself, smiled and greeted the two of you. He pulled you to his side.

“We have a reservation under the name Javier Peña,” he said.

The woman began to look up your booking and Javier and she began conversing in Spanish to one another. Your language ability was great at this point, but it was still foreign enough that you had to put effort into understanding what was being said, and after the flight you were tired.

The only thing you were able to pay attention to during the taxi ride to the hotel was that it seemed to be the nicest one in the whole town.

Javier was handed a key and the movement drew you back to the interaction happening.

“Welcome to Riohacha and have a wonderful stay, Mr. and Mrs. Peña,” the receptionist said, turning and addressing you.

“Oh, um, we’re—”

“Thank you,” Javier interrupted you. You shook your head and smiled to yourself. It was easier to not correct her, sure. Harder, though, to think of the implications. To wrestle with the fact that you didn’t mind the address. That you might, one day, want it.

Javier led you into the elevator and up to your floor. The room was huge. A large bed sat in the center, soft pillows piled on top. You peeked into the bathroom, revealing a large tub and more room than you could ever need.

“Javi, this is way too much,” you said, standing near the entrance. He was already opening up his suitcase.

“It’s a vacation,” he said.

“I haven’t stayed in a hotel since I was a kid. Growing up, if I ever got to travel, it was in roadside motels.”

He stopped, standing up straight and turning to face you.

“But you travel all the time?”

“With practically no money,” you said. “I stay at hostels and usually work part-time for the bed.”

Javier crossed the room in a couple strides, hands outreached and landing on your upper arms, the way he always did to calm you.

“Well, you deserve something like this,” he said.

“Javi, I—”

“Don’t worry. I wanted to have a nice break with you. Okay?”

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

The sun was beating down, the heat in Riohacha much more what you had imagined a year in Colombia would be like, not realizing that Bogotá up in the mountains was a more temperate location. You loved the beach. It was probably your favorite place to be, the sound of the waves fitting nicely with the light breeze and the warm sand.

The best part of the last few days was the fact that you had nothing to do. Javier would take you to restaurants and you’d drag him to bars you’d found in different brochures and point out all the different historical architecture you adored. He wasn’t one to love art much, but you managed to get him to join you on a tour of the Cathedral. And, of course, you spent a lot of time on the beach. Walking along the waves, tanning, swimming. And fairly often, drinking.

You were wearing a bikini, splayed out on a towel, exhausted after having swum for an hour in the water. Javier was sitting next to you, and you weren’t blind to the way his eyes drifted over your body.

“I’m going to go drab us something to drink,” he said, standing up.

“Okay.” You sat up and smiled.

“What do you want?”

“Something fruity?”

“You sure?” He raised his eyebrows. You were typically the beer or shots kind of person, and he knew that. But there was something about lying in the sand next to the Caribbean that had you craving something tropical.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“Right. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He walked away and you leaned back, staring up at the bright sky. This was the sort of vacation you had never indulged in. There were no plans, no obligations, no work, just waking up every morning next to Javier and doing whatever you wanted to until it was time to go to sleep. You loved it.

Javier’s shadow fell over you and you sat up again, taking the glass of colorful liquid. Javier mumbled something about punch as he lowered himself to the sand, holding a glass of something. Probably whiskey. You took a sip of your drink and smiled. It was cold and sweet and perfect for the day you were having.

You leaned into Javier’s chest and closed your eyes for a bit. You felt him set down his drink to reach down and stroke your leg, and the soft motion was almost enough to lull you to sleep.

“You know, I didn’t think I’d love Colombia as much as I do,” you mused.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I got the job offer to come here and I was hesitant. There’s not many backpackers coming to Colombia, I guess that made it less exciting in my head. And I was so worried about settling down for a year,” you said. You were just beginning to realize that the life you’ve been enjoying so much has been everything you’ve never dreamed of. “I wanted to keep traveling for a long as possible, but there’s something nice about taking a break.”

“Yeah? Why did you say yes, then?”

“Same reason it wasn’t as exciting? There was something fascinating about doing something that sounded so adventurous and out there, something not many were doing. I had friends tell me I shouldn’t because Colombia was dangerous or because I didn’t speak Spanish.” You shifted into a smile. “I think I wanted to spite them.”

“That does sound like you,” he laughed and you could feel the shaking of his chest beneath you.

“Yeah, it is.”

You sat back up to take a sip of your drink. The sound of the waves washed over you.

“I was so scared when I graduated,” you said after a long couple of minutes. “So many people wanted me to start doing something important with my life, and what they thought was important didn’t matter to me. I didn’t want to choose a thing and a place and stay there forever. Or even for a few years. I wanted to keep  _ doing _ . But I don’t know? Colombia? Here? Spending the past months with you? I guess it doesn't sound so bad.”

Javier took a deep breath. “You know how I almost got married once?”

“Yeah,” you said. You didn’t know where this was going. You didn’t like to dwell much on the fact that Javier had almost married, had been with someone that he cared about so much he almost spent the rest of his life with. You didn’t like the reminder that the two of you were in such different stages of your lives. He was years into a career, having already contemplated the permanency of things, and you were fresh out of college, still unsure what to do with your whole life. His almost marriage was a low dissonant hum, revealing how you two shouldn’t have worked as well as you did.

“I’ve been wondering why I left her,” he said, and you glanced over to him as he stared straight ahead. “I don’t think I loved her that much. I hadn’t been that close to anyone before and, well, I think I confused vulnerability and intimacy with love?”

“Didn’t you say you didn’t want to drag her into the DEA stuff?”

“I did. That’s part of it too. I was just getting started, the DEA was brand new anyway, and we didn’t have any idea how dangerous it would be. I assumed the worst,” he said.

“Do you think she would have been fine with it now?” You didn’t want to admit how much this discussion hurt. It wasn’t like you and Javier had put names on what you were doing, but sometimes it felt like there was something more, and you couldn’t help but be jealous of this other woman who almost had Javier’s whole heart.

“Hell no,” he laughed. “It takes a certain kind of person to put up with me and the late nights and the guilt. And living here.” He turned to face you. “She wouldn’t have lasted living with me down here. Not like you.”

You furrowed your brow. What did he mean?

“Me?” You cursed the waver in your voice, revealing the fear and the anticipation coursing through your veins.

“You. Yes. I—I don’t know what we’re doing.” His eyes were soft and settled in his face, a weak smile graced his cheeks. You hadn’t seen him so unsure of his words before. “I haven’t done anything like  _ this _ with anyone before. I did one night stands, no strings, no emotions. Like you said: just fun.”

“What do you want it to mean?”

“I don’t know what I want it to mean, but I know what it’s turning into, and that scares the hell out of me,” he breathed out, the volume dropping to barely nothing.

“Scares me too,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You lean up to him, near his ear. “Scares the hell out of me how much I actually love staying in one place, if that one place has you.”

You waited for a response. A word that might define something that had gone so far without definition. You weren’t sure if you even wanted a word. The finality and the realness, the commitment, all of it scared you.

A word didn’t come.

Hovering above his neck you placed your lips on the little spot where his jaw meets his neck below his ear, and maybe it was the alcohol that caused you to start making out with his neck, or maybe the excitement of the implication that all of this  _ did _ mean something, but didn’t require a name. Whatever it was it had Javier letting out little sounds that went straight to your core.

“We should go back to the hotel,” he said, voice low and sultry.

“I agree.”

* * *

Your back hit the soft mattress in a daze. Javier wasn’t really on top of you, rather alongside you, and your mouths hadn’t left each other since you stumbled into the room more than a few minutes ago. He had you pinned to the wall, hand down your swimsuit, bringing you to orgasm once already against the cool drywall as you attempted to do the same, but as soon as you had him panting in your hand, he was pulling you up and onto the bed.

As he lay beside you, his hands went to your waist, pulling you against him as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, guiding him gently into you.

The intrusion caused you to gasp, your entire body sensitive from the first high, and Javier slowly pushed you further down onto him. Once your bodies were as closely connected as possible, he held you there, wrapped up in him. Your breaths were heavy and began to align with each other.

The speed at which this all began had reduced to little more than zero, and you didn’t mind laying in Javier’s arms, his cock inside you, stretching you out perfectly and fully. If life could last a lifetime like this, you would never have reason to complain. It felt as if you had found a part of yourself in Javier and were now whole, completely and fully understood.

You rocked your hips back and then into his own, releasing a low moan from your throat and relishing in the grunts Javier was producing near your ear. His hands were soaring across your back, and it felt like he was desperate to remember every inch of you, the way you had explored him many times before. He pushed up into you, matching the rhythm at which you moved, and every time you found his cock buried deep within you, you let out sharp gasps and curses.

You held Javier by his hips and around his back, and you kissed him, lips against lips with bruising intensity. You tried to imbue as much of the feelings that were flooding your brain.

What those feelings were, you weren’t entirely sure, but they had become so familiar that their lack of title did not detract you from embracing them. You kissed with the passion and care and comfort you felt from Javier, with the terror and desperation of your precarious place in the world, and with the thing you were afraid to call love.

He rocked into you and moved his mouth down to your jaw and then your neck, leaving marks that might have been covered by a work shirt but could be proudly displayed in the summery clothing you wore during this vacation. You could feel, with every thrust, your orgasm building up and up, and before you were there Javier was stalling and you could feel the throb of his cock, spilling inside you.

His moans against your skin as he continued pushing into you were fuel to the fire and he clamped himself down on your collarbone, the feeling of which tipped you over as your whole body shook with pleasure.

You were thankful for the force with which he held you, keeping you flush against him. You wanted to keep feeling the warmth of his skin and as you came down from the high you could do little more than smile at Javier as he pulled you into a more comfortable position in which you could lie down until you were ready to stand again.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky and it was your last night in Riohacha. You told Javier that you wanted to spend your last night here on the beach, and he was more than happy to comply. The temperature had fallen, and while it was cooler than the day had been, it was still warm enough that the sea beckoned. You had the perfect idea to watch the sunset.

“Javi, come on!” you said, jumping up and reaching down to grab his hands.

“No, I like it here.”

“Come on, you’ll like this more,” you smiled, and pulled him to his feet. Then you took off running towards the water, your feet hitting the cool waves. When it was just brushing over your ankles, you turned to see Javier standing in the last stretch of dry sand.

He called out to you, “I’m not—”

“Shut up, you’re coming in,” you said, running back to drag him in with you.

By the time you were up to your waists in water, you were both laughing. As you ran into deeper and deeper water, he would occasionally slap your ass and you’d turn around and splash a bunch of water into his face, smiling the whole time.

Once you had passed most of the waves, the water was still shallow enough to stand, and you slipped off your bikini top, waving it above the water as Javier’s eyes widened. Given the depth of the water, you were safe from any wandering eyes on the beach, but not from Javier who waded over to you and pulled you in tight, pressing your bare chest against his own.

You pushed him back so you could readjust, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. His lips ceded to yours, and you felt the warm of his tongue against your own. It was like the two of you were melting into one, the water swirling around you, blocking you off from the rest of the world.

You rolled your hips up against Javier’s, and he groaned into your mouth. His arms firmly around your waist, you slipped your own down to the waistband of his swim trunks and he let go of you to remove them himself. His one hand now occupied by the piece of clothing, you had enough space to take off your own bikini bottom. You hugged him again, smiling against his lips as your swimsuit dripped against the exposed part of his back.

He reached down to the backs of your legs, hoisting you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. The soft pressure of his hands against the skin of your thighs was grounding, and neither of you were complaining about the feel of one another’s fully nude body pressed against the other.

“I love being here with you,” you whispered.

“Me too.”

You glanced over at where the sun was setting, bright orange streaking the sky, reflecting upon periwinkle and pink clouds, and the deepest of reds and yellows glistening across the water. You watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, Javier only half paying attention as he rubbed circles into your thighs and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

When the sun was gone, you turned back to Javier, and leaning into his arms you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and you weren’t sure what he was talking about but you knew he was right.

The weight against your legs disappeared and you found yourself falling backward into the water, grasping for hold of Javier. When your feet found ground you sputtered to the surface to see Javier laughing.

“Javi! you—” you shout, cupping your hands and pushing them forwards, a large spray of water erupting into his face.

“Hey!”

“You deserved that!” you yelled, laughing with him.

He splashed you back and you jumped up into his arms, pushing him back into the water again.

* * *

You woke up later than usual to an empty bedroom and knew Javier would probably be down by the pool, smoking. You drag yourself out of bed and head down to the lobby where you order a cup of coffee from the bar.

Outside you find Javier as expected, a shot of espresso on a table next to him, a cloud of smoke rising up as he exhales.

You sit down next to him, quietly taking a sip of your drink. He holds out a cigarette and you take it into your fingers, letting him light it before you bring it to your lips and inhale the smoke. The two of you are looking out over the pool, beyond which lies an empty road and the beach. You hadn’t thought about it until now, but the pool didn’t make much sense, especially since the Caribbean was right there.

“I’m jealous,” he said.

“What?”

“You’ve got another week of vacation, and I have to go back to work.”

“Yeah, but, you’ll get to come home to me every night,” you said. You were looking forward to spending a little more time in the mornings with Javier and not having to worry about the kids for a little bit more.

“I will?” he looks over at you.

“Why wouldn’t you?” you ask.

“You’re not going to spend a week wandering around the country? I thought you lived for that.”

He was right. You did live for that. But the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You weren’t sure how you had gotten to this point, but all you were imagining for your return was some time in your apartment together.

“I can do day trips if I want to get out of Bogotá. But I want to be with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Okay? Javi, I don’t want to spend a week waking up in random hostels and not being next to you,” as you said the words they rang truer than any words you had spoken before. You wanted to stay next to Javier as long as you could. “This week has been amazing, and if I could, I would stay here forever.”

“I would too,” he said, finally smiling.

You stare out over the horizon and take another sip of coffee, letting the hot liquid fill you and give you the spike of energy you needed to think about packing for your flight later that day. Javier reached over to put a hand on your thigh and you hummed. You wanted to wake up every morning and sit next to Javier, relaxed enough to not feel the need for words, speaking only through relaxed touches and the feeling of perfect comfort with your whole being in his presence.


	7. july: thrive

Over fifty stapled bunches of paper sat in front of you. Tests. From three of your English classes, all of which needed to be graded. You had ninety minutes until your next class and had assumed that you could finish at least some of them in that time.

The phone in the shared office rang and Señora Lozano, one of the philosophy teachers, stood up to take it. You tried to resume your work but were interrupted.

_ “Discuple, señorita, pero Silvia está al teléfono. Dice que alguien la está buscando,”  _ Señora Lozano told you from across the room. Silvia was the secretary.

You stood up to walk over to the phone and took it from Señora Lozano’s outstretched hand.

“ _ Habla Y/N”  _ you said.

“ _ Hola, Y/N, hay una mujer aquí, se llama Charlotte? Charlotte Segal? Ha preguntado por vos.”  _ Silvia’s Spanish accent warped Charlotte’s name enough that it took a moment for you to recognize it, but when you did, you were quick to respond.

“ _ Vale, Silvia, gracias. Estaré allí bajo en unos minutos. Ella es una amiga,”  _ you said.

“ _ Bueno, hasta pronto,”  _ Silvia said before hanging up.

You hurried out of the office and down the halls, excited at the possibility that Charlotte was downstairs.

Charlotte was a good friend of yours. You met while in Albania a year before. She was a Parisian with a penchant for partying and spending way too much of her parents’ money, which was how she was staying at the hostel you were working at for the week. Your friendship blossomed afterward as you went down to Greece for a while together before you flew off to Italy while she vacationed in Malta. You were back in Paris a month later when you ran into her again, and from then on you seemed to always cross paths.

What she was doing in Colombia, you had no idea. Bogotá wasn’t exactly the glamorous kind of spot she preferred, but you were nevertheless excited to see her.

You made it to the front desk in time to see Charlotte pacing back and forth in a pair of large sunglasses, a white blouse, and wide flowing trousers.

When your footsteps sounded at the doorway, she turned to you, a smile wide on her face.

“Y/N!” she said, “It is so good to see you, you look amazing.”

You smiled at the sight of your friend, walking up to give her a hug. You had admittedly missed the thick French-accented English Charlotte spoke, and while as a personal principle, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on the people you had said goodbye too, Charlotte would occasionally appear in your dreams, dragging you out to another nightclub or encouraging you to take up a sketchy offer to take a train across a country. The two of you were kindred spirits in that way. Both travelers at heart. She was a writer and a painter, and while she didn’t  _ need _ to work with her parents still funding her lifestyle, she would often write travel articles that were incredibly popular in more than a few social circles around France.

“You look great, as always,” you told her. “Why you here? How did you find me?”

“I’m meeting a guy in Peru and we’re making our down the Pacific coast through Chile,” she said, smiling and bubbly. “I know it’s not really the sort of thing I would usually do, but I thought it might be fun, you know? And I remembered you were going to be teaching in Bogotá so I thought I would stop for a couple days and say hello. I spent a good part of this morning trying to figure out which school, and I am very happy that I found you here.”

You laughed as she kept rambling on about her adventures in asking secretaries at various schools if someone by your name taught there. It was a horribly inefficient way to do things, but you weren’t sure how else you would have done it if you were in her shoes.

“Charlotte, I’ve got to get back to work, but do you want to meet at three here? We can spend the rest of the day together and go out for dinner?”

“Of course, right, you’ve got work,” she said, “You should get back to that, I’ll see you here. At three. Yes.”

* * *

You slid into the restaurant chair, the fact that you were able to sit down sending soothing waves throughout your body. You had spent the entire day showing Charlotte around the city and while fun, you were exhausted, especially after a full day of classes.

Additionally, you had been looking forward to dinner with Javier, but it would have to wait for another day. Charlotte’s flight took off for Lima the following night and you wanted to spend what time you could with her. You had left the apartment phone a message before you left work, letting him know your friend was in town and that you’d be spending the day with her. You hoped he got it. And that he wasn’t plagued with another late night of work such that he would return home in time to hear it before you returned. You hated that the DEA work would keep him so late. You knew how much it hurt for him to lose days to his occupation when he wanted to be out living.

Despite the long hours spent together, you hadn’t gotten much of a chance to catch up with Charlotte, mostly discussing the clubs you recommended she go to before she left (you didn’t want to go out, shockingly, but the call of a night in with Javier was too strong to pass up), so when you sat down, you asked her about what she had been doing the past year or so.

Her face lit up with thousands of stories flashing across her eyes and you, for a moment, remembered what it was like to be in her place. To still be traveling, not having more than the next week or two planned out, maybe a distant event a couple months into the future in which you had to plan your adventures as a journey to arrive at said location to do whatever exciting thing it was. You had spent the past couple months telling yourself you were still living that life, that Colombia was only an extended stop, but you knew that wasn’t the case. You had ground your life to a halt for it. And you weren’t sure where you wanted to go next.

Charlotte dove into a long-winded tale of a cross-Europe train adventure that extended past Europe, through Turkey, and somehow ended up in a month spent in India before taking a rather expensive flight back to Paris. It was one of many stories that came out over your meal, and you couldn’t shake the memories flooding back of the cold November night in Northern Spain, shivering as the hostel owner knocked on your door bringing everyone in the room hot bowls of soup, the three weeks you spent in a small village in Southern France teaching English to what felt like half the town, the long nights in Italy where you didn’t go to bed until six in the morning, running around the cobblestone streets, drunk with a new group of friends every night, usually tumbling into bed with one, or more, of them. You missed it. You really did.

“So what have you been up to?” Charlotte asked. “You’re teaching, but, what else?”

You shook your head. “That’s kind of it. I’m really loving teaching at the school, it’s a nice change of pace. Less interesting, sure, but the kids are all lovely and Bogotá’s an amazing city. I’ve fallen in love with it a bit.”

“What’s it’s even like, staying in one place like this?” she asked. “Are you still staying at a hostel, or do you have an apartment with some of the other backpackers in the town?”

Huh. An apartment with other backpackers. That’s what you had been imagining back before you left Europe for South America, imagining your new life in sunny warm Colombia, an apartment with the windows open, and a couple of international roommates who all went out to the discos with you as you stumbled over Spanish phrases together. Things hadn’t worked out that way, did they?

“No, I, uh,” you said, wondering how she would interpret the truth. “I’m staying with this guy I met on my second day here—I mean. We met on my second day, I moved in with him like two months later.”

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

You laughed. Sometimes Charlotte could be so direct. And of course, she would go there first. But she wasn’t wrong. You nodded.

“So, who is he?”

“His name’s Javier, he works at the US embassy.”

“Ahh, another American,” she said. Her sly smile told you she was already picturing the whole thing.

“Yeah, he works for the DEA,” you said before realizing the acronym meant nothing to her. You lowered your voice, “Drug enforcement. You know, with all the cocaine and stuff coming out of Colombia?”

She laughed, loudly, “Does he know all the sorts of things you have done? The two of us in Paris that one night? With that Spaniard? I think his name was Alberto?”

“Alvaro,” you corrected. “And he doesn’t, but I also haven’t done anything since I got here.”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Around three months now?”

“I thought you moved in after two months, that would be, what? March?” she asked.

“Yeah, he has a guest bedroom. We were roommates. Friends,” you said. You kept your voice steady as not to give away too much.

“So you lived with him for a month or more before you two became a couple?” she asked.

And you went bug-eyed. Never before had there been a name for your relationship with Javier, and a couple was not one that had ever been spoken aloud. It had crossed your mind, sure, especially when the hotel receptionist called you Mrs. Peña that one time, but you weren’t sure you were ready to be one half of a couple. That meant so much.

You swallowed. “Yeah, a month or so. It was, not fun, to say the least.”

She laughed. “So what’s going to happen when you’re done with the school year?”

“I don’t know,” you said. And that was the truth. You planned to figure it all out much later. The school year ended halfway through November. That seemed an eternity to you.

“You’re just like Vincent and Lisa,” Charlotte said with a sick grin.

You weren’t anything like Vincent or Lisa. The former being a burly Swedish guy you’d often run into in the hostels near the edges of towns, talking about the next sailing trip he was taking. And Lisa was another American, small and squirrelly, but unlike you and your English major, she had graduated a few years before with a degree in engineering and you had no idea why this woman would be traveling like you when she could go to any city she wanted and get a great job in a couple days. You supposed that must have been the appeal though.

“How?” You shook your head.

“Both of them fell in love,” she said, “They stopped traveling. Vincent wound up with this sweet girl in some village in the Alps where he now lives, and Lisa moved onto a farm in Ireland. Love does that, you know?”

“We’re not—” you began to protest before you stopped. Did you love Javier? It was the feeling that coursed through your body every moment you were near him and hummed in the back of your heart when away. But you couldn’t be sure if he felt the same. And you weren’t sure where love held a space in your life. “I guess I don’t know what to expect. What Javier and I have going, it’s working. So, I don’t know. I’m just leaving it as it is for now.”

Charlotte gave you a soft smile. “It’s okay to stop living like us. Okay to want what you have, right? If you’ve found that person, then it’s best not to let them go.”

“What would you know about that?”

“I have my regrets. Someone I chose to leave behind,” she said. “But that’s in the past. I just know that next time, I’m not going to make the same mistake.”

* * *

Javier had come home from work one night, three days after Charlotte left, with a wide grin on his face.

_ “I have dinner plans for us next week on Friday,” he said. _

_ “Yeah? Something special?” you asked. _

_ “Depends on how you define special.” He set down his bag and crashed next to you on the sofa. “Some of the others in the office, a couple from the CIA, Greg from intelligence, and Marta from Customs, we’re all getting together for dinner and drinks at a restaurant nearby, just to hang out. Everyone’s bringing their family, you know, wives and kids and stuff.” _

_ “Family?” you breathed. You turned over to look at him. _

_ His face had turned a shade of red. “Um, yeah. I thought maybe you’d want to come? They’ve been asking about you.” _

_ “You’ve mentioned me?” you asked. It felt like the air in the room had stilled. There was no way you could go back from this conversation. You were dancing around the words, but the implications were heavy. _

_ “Um, I did, and uh, I’d really like it if you came,” he said. _

_ “Of course I’ll go.” _

But the high of being invited disappeared as you were walking into the restaurant a week later, and everyone at the table looked up. The dirty looks on the faces of two of the guys made your stomach turn and after asking for your name, one of the women asked with the sort of high-pitched, fake and judgmental voice uses when one is trying to be polite while also intending to do a small amount of harm, “So how old are you, dear?”

You grimaced and replied, “Twenty-three.”

The women laughed and the men stayed silent as you were gestured to the female end of the table, two seats in the center of the side had been reserved, so you and Javier could sit next to one another. His presence was enough to partially soothe you.

“Javier, it is so nice to finally meet your girlfriend, we were beginning to think you had made her up,” one of the guys said. You had been introduced to him and knew it was Greg. His wife, Nancy, was sitting beside you, keeping her mouth shut.

“Yeah, Javi, you always seemed to be the bachelor of the group,” another said. That was Martin.

Everyone at the table laughed, including yourself, except your laugh was the sort of insecure laughter that masked a heavy dose of fear. It was clear your presence was implying much more than you wanted, and Javier wasn’t comfortable either, given the vice grip he had on your thigh.

You reached a hand down to rest on top of his, which helped him relax a bit.

The conversation slowly moved from full group discussion to you being dragged in with the wives group as the three kids, Anna, Ellis, and Thomas chattered away between the two mothers. Nancy, Greg’s wife, you learned, worked at the Embassy too, as a secretary, and their daughter Anna was going to the international school, whereas John and his wife Amy, sent Ellis and Thomas to a Colombian elementary school. Amy was shocked to find out you taught at a local school and asked you all sorts of questions about her concerns over the curriculum.

Marta, who conducted most of the US visa interviews, sat across from you, and you quickly learned she was the kindest of the bunch. Her boyfriend was a Colombian man, Ángel David, who spoke almost perfect English and clearly got along well with Javier. Marta was the one to tell Amy to stop drilling you with questions and was always able to control the conversation when it got out of hand.

And then there was Luisa, Martin’s wife. Martin, while working for the CIA, was also a field agent. So Luisa thought you had a lot in common with her. 

“Isn’t it so rough when they don’t come back, sometimes for a couple days?” she asked.

“Javier’s never been gone that long without telling me,” you said.

“Really? Sometime’s Martin says he’ll be back one night and I won’t see him for days,” she said. “I think he’s dead every time.”

The thought of Javier not coming back was enough to make you feel sick. You stopped eating the food on your plate as you looked up at Luisa.

“I can’t imagine,” you said. “That must be awful.”

“Oh if you live with anyone who works in the embassy, you get used to it,” Nancy said, and all the woman laughed. “Even if they’re not out shooting people, they always seem to be spending yet another night at the office.”

“What more can you do, you know?” Amy said, “It’s like, we’re all here to support them, so, you pack some meals and hope for the best. Give them a call if you can. Let them know how worried you are and then when they come back they’re all over you, it’s great.”

The women carried on their conversation without you, discussing all the ways they cope with emotionally and physically absent husbands. It sounded like hell.

Marta seemed to think so too, leaning over and whispering, “They’re just pissy that their husbands don’t sleep with them anymore and are now pretending life is fine when they should really return to the states and get a divorce.

You laughed, “Are things usually that bad for the embassy spouses?”

“No way, there’s plenty of people with healthy relationships,” she said. “But Luisa has a point, most of the field agents are often absent. If you don’t know how to handle it, it can be a lot. It takes a special kind of person to put up with it, but you know, if you love someone, that goes a long way.”

* * *

You dropped a plastic bag of groceries to the floor outside the apartment door as you fumbled with the key. Nudging open the door with your hip and picking the bag up again, you entered. Javier was trailing behind with another two bags. Your apartment was horribly low on food, and having been graced with a day where you were both off, you decided to spend part of it grocery shopping.

As Javier’s work had become increasingly time-consuming, getting more than the brief moments before going to sleep and after waking up became much more difficult. Stealing away a single day was a blessing. You had both thought about going out, but decided the best way would be to spend every possible second of it together. The TV guide had mentioned showing one of the James Bond movies and Javier’s eyes had lit up, so you decided it would be a good evening to cook dinner together and curl up on the couch.

Which was when Javier had the brilliant idea to teach you how to make tamales and you could teach him the family cookie recipe you had been constantly talking about missing the past week or two.

Things had gotten messy when you were searching for the ingredients for both recipes in the Colombian supermarket and kept drawing blanks. While Colombia had their own tamales, some parts were different and you ended up having to purchase banana leaves instead of corn husks, and your cookie recipe was littered with substitutions.

By the time you were in the middle of cooking, though, it didn’t really matter. The tamale filling had been started that morning, and the smell of slow-cooking meat wafting through the air was amazing. Javier guided you through mixing the masa and taught you how to assemble them. You had made a mess, both on the table and over each other as you would get distracted, smearing a bit of the masa on Javier’s face before he would do the same, divulging into laughter. After a few minutes, the assembly had been put on hold so you could wipe his face clean and then kiss him. He was too beautiful for this, you thought as you pulled away, too beautiful for you to be standing in the kitchen with, bearing witness to the carefreeness of a man like him.

The tamales were steaming as you began mixing cookie dough, having decided it was not a dessert, but a side dish for your movie night. Javier helped as much as he could and took over dishing the dough out onto the baking sheet once he got the hang of how large the balls of dough were to be.

The cookies came out of the oven looking a bit lopsided and weird, but you chalked it up to the substitutions. They tasted good. Javier had bit into one a little too soon after taking them out, and burnt his tongue, sending you running for a glass of ice water which you forced him to drink.

You removed two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and opened them while he was drinking and offered one out to him.

“The tamales will be ready soon and the movie starts in ten minutes,” he said after taking a long swig of beer.

“Perfect,” you smiled. You pulled down two plates from the cupboard and placed a little stack of cookies on each of them. You didn’t want to be stuck going back for seconds during a commercial break.

Javier took out the tamales when they finished up, placing a couple on your plates and you collapsed on the couch together as the opening credits began, a pile of food and laughter and limbs and blankets.

It really was perfect.


	8. august: ideal

The last time Javier had come back home before you had crawled into bed was over a week ago. You knew it was because a couple leads with the Medellín Cartel had turned up, that and the fact that Javier had a new ally with the Colombian Police department. The combination meant late nights of work that took a heavy toll on him.

You hadn’t really seen him since then. Every day was the same, even on weekends, when you had nothing to do all day. You’d wake up to an empty bed, and sometimes a note on the bedside table, and get home to an empty house. You’d make dinner. Or order takeout. Sometimes you’d leave leftovers for him in the fridge. Sometimes they’d be gone the next morning. You’d grade some papers. You’d wait up for Javier. And then, when staying up any later would jeopardize your ability to get up in time for work the next morning, you’d crawl into bed.

There had been three nights where you hadn’t fallen asleep yet when you heard the keys in the apartment door and listened to Javier shuffle around, heating up some food, using the restroom. When he got into bed though, he thought you were asleep. That’s when he’d say things to your sleeping figure.

_ “I’m sorry, baby.” _

_ “I missed you.” _

_ “I wish this would all stop, just for a fucking day.” _

_ “You would have loved to see Carillo’s face today when the house was empty.” _

_ “I would have loved to see your face today.” _

In the moment, it felt good, knowing that he cared and was sorry. That he missed you as much as you missed him. But now, as you sat in the living room, the radio on as you flipped through an old magazine, you were thinking about all those words, and how exhausted you were. What you wouldn’t give for a day with Javier. Just a day. And while you know he felt the same, you couldn’t even figure out how to put in the effort to make it happen. As if you weren’t doing enough already. 

The only time to talk to him was when you were asleep.

Even before this past week, he would come home pent up with frustration and he wouldn’t say a word. You could see it in his body, the way he was drawn up. He would relax in your arms at night, but he still wouldn’t talk about anything. You knew it was partially the confidentiality. But he was also bad at it. It took too much for him to admit that things weren’t going as planned. And you suffered, not being able to talk about the things that bothered you without him becoming even more closed off.

You almost wished that those tense nights would return. Anything to stop these nights without him.

It was only ten at night when the keys were heard in the door. You startled. He hadn’t been back that early in a couple weeks.

The door swung open.

“You’re up?” Javier said as soon as he realized the lights were on and you were sitting on the couch.

“Yeah, I am,” you said. “I usually am.”

He was frozen at the edge of the living room. “You should sleep.”

“Javi, I always wait up for you,” you admitted. “Until at least eleven.”

“I’m not usually home by then.”

“You are today,” you said.

He nodded and crossed the room, sitting on the chair angled towards the couch. His hands ran through his hair once before he was able to talk. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know I’ve been working a lot. I want to be here more, with you. I really do.”

You wanted to believe that it was possible. That Javier would start returning home earlier again. But you found yourself thinking about when you had dinner with the couples from the embassy. All those women complaining about the hours without their husbands. How much they missed them.

“Is it always going to be like this?” you asked.

“Like what?”

“Late nights like this,” you said. You wanted to be understanding, you did. But it was hard. You wished he would be there every damn morning. “I know you’re going to say it’ll stop. But it won’t, will it? We’ll have months like before, and then we’ll have weeks like this. Where I get nothing more than a note next to the bed and the lingering scent of your cologne.”

“I left a note, Y/N,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought you would understand.”

“You tell me every morning in a note that you might have another late night. I never know what to expect. I just want a few minutes with you. And I have no idea if today or tomorrow will be that day. It’s maddening.”

“And I’m here today,” he said. Like that made it all better. It didn’t.

“How was I supposed to know I should have given up other nights then? Went to sleep, given up on seeing you?”

“You know what?” Javier said, standing up. “I came back early tonight because I wanted to see you.”

“It’s not early, Javier.”

“No,” he said. His voice was louder this time. “I left things unfinished at work. For you. And now that I’m here you’re going to have this conversation? I don’t have the energy for this shit. I just wanted to see you. Like you said.”

That was it. You couldn’t deal with Javier like this.

“You don’t have the energy? Fine.” You stood up. “It’s late, and I’m going to sleep. You can join me if you want.”

You stormed out of the living room. It was petty, you knew that. But if Javier was in the mood to turn it into a shouting match, you didn’t have the goddamn time. And you made sure that by the time he was knocking on the door and opening it, whispering your name into the darkness, you were pretending to be fast asleep.

* * *

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, again. However, it was a Saturday so you had slept in. Any chance of seeing Javier was thrown out the door because of that.

The morning light streamed into the bedroom through the windows, and you remembered the Saturdays where that light fell on Javier’s face and bare chest. How beautiful he looked. You were frustrated with him for the lack of emotional contact; your need to spend time with him to talk through things increased with his absence. But you missed  _ seeing _ him. 

He was easy on the eyes. You chuckled to yourself. Those mornings where you got to wake up next to him? You could stare at him for hours, marveling at how lucky you were.

You rolled out of bed, padding out and into the bathroom to shower and get ready, then tossing on a robe to go out to the kitchen.

There was a noise coming from the room that sounded like the coffee machine. You peered in and Javier was standing in front of the counter, waiting for the coffee to drip into the pot below.

“Javi?” you said.

He turned around with a smile. “Morning.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I called in sick,” he said.

“Are you?”

“No, do I sound sick?”

You shook your head. The bowl on the breakfast table had been replenished with fruits a couple days before and you picked one out and started to eat it.

“Why?”

“I wanted to spend the day with you,” he said. His body seemed to deflate with something akin to comfort. “What you said last night, I, uh, I know I haven’t been the best.”

He turned around to the coffee machine, which had finished. He pulled down two mugs from the cupboard, comically emblazoned with the emblem of the US Embassy in Bogotá. Once filled, he handed you one full of black coffee before adding milk and sugar to his.

You hadn’t mentioned how you liked your coffee since the second day you spoke to him, but the coffee dates afterward that turned into living with him had clearly helped him remember your preferred way of drinking it.

Leaning up against the counter, you take a sip in silence. You were not sure how to respond to him. It wasn’t yet an apology, but it was a recognition of error. And that, you knew, was often hard for him. Still, what could you say to make it better? Tell him that  _ yes _ , he had been pretty awful. That his communication was terrible. That he avoided any repercussions of his behavior by simply not being around when you were awake. None of that was conducive to a solution. And so you stayed silent, sinking down onto the floor, your mug resting in your hands between your chest and your legs, which were drawn up in front of you.

“Where did I go wrong?” he said. He sunk down across from you.

It would have been a funny sight: the two of you on the floor, you in a robe and Javier in his boxers and a white undershirt, coffee mugs in hand, looking more exhausted than any person should be after at least eight hours of sleep. Except you were trying to pinpoint a moment for Javier. There wasn’t one.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Somewhere in the past few weeks, you stopped talking when things got hard. It was like talking to a brick wall. And maybe you thought I couldn’t tell, but I could. You were frustrated and tired and you came home tense. And I didn’t have any way in. I couldn’t help.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not really about talking anymore, is it? More about just being here for a moment.”

“I know. I should have made an effort,” Javier said.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not gonna stop for a while. Things are busy,” he said. It was refreshing. Him being completely honest about it. Telling you exactly what to expect. “My work is chaotic. I can’t ever predict what’s going to happen. But the next couple days? More late nights. You shouldn’t bother waiting up. I’ll try to be there in the morning, though.”

“Okay,” you said. You wanted to laugh at how easy it was when you both got over yourselves enough to talk. “Do you think we can, I don’t know, have a night every so often that’s reserved? For us? If you need to postpone it by a day, last-minute or whatever, I understand. But if you’re going to be gone every fucking day? I don’t know how I’m going to manage.”

He nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

You took a sip of your coffee. He took a sip of his.

“I’m really sorry,” Javier continued. “I want you to know that. I could hardly sleep last night, I was so worried I had fucked this up.”

“It’s okay, Javi. I forgive you. It’s just something we needed to talk about. And we didn’t. You were too worked up last night. Maybe I was too.”

“No,” he said. “You weren’t. You were being reasonable. And I was frustrated and there’s not really an excuse.”

“Yeah. And we need to move on. Keep trying to be there for each other. I know things are rough right now. I  _ want _ to be there for you. You just need to let me.”

“I can do that,” he said. It was a promise that allowed you to exhale.

You leaned your head back onto the cupboard door behind you and took another sip of your coffee. It was good. Probably because Javier had made it and he was sitting here on the floor with you. You stared at his face and a smile fell upon your own.

“Do you remember during the heatwave, that one morning where you pulled out the ice to cool down?” you asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I had wanted this for so long, but that moment? That was—it was a lot. If I didn’t have work, or any excuse to leave, really, I would have kissed you right there.”

Javier laughed. “Really? If you had I wouldn’t have stopped you. “

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“There was just something about the ice and the sun and the heat and well,  _ you,” _ you breathed out. You were becoming aroused thinking about it.

“I was waiting for you,” he said.

“What?”

“I didn’t know if you felt the same way, and you let me put the ice cube on you, and if you hadn’t left, I—I don’t know what I would have done. But if it was up to me, it would have involved us both naked on the floor here.” His eyes darkened, and you could tell he was feeling the same.

You hadn’t had sex with him in weeks. It had been over a week since you even touched him beyond brushing up against him in your sleep.

“I think we could easily be naked on the floor here, right now,” you suggest. You reach up to set down your mug on the countertop, before moving to the tie of your robe. You pull it loose, the robe relaxing it’s grip on your body, the top falling a bit more open.

“I think that would be a great idea,” Javier said, setting down his mug as well. He started to crawl over to you. “I can think of a lot of ways we can spend today, together, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t think I would mind at all,” you said.

He was hovering over you, and you were aware of the very motion of your breathing. Javier reached up to push aside your robe, exposing your breasts, his eyes drifting down your nude body.

He plunged in, your lips connecting with bruising intensity as his hands connected with your breast, squeezing and kneading in the gentle but arousing way only he seemed to know how. He had your body worked into a frenzy beneath him without even touching any lower.

You reached out, attempting to find hold of his shirt, instead grasping at the bare skin as the fabric rode up. He pulled off for the briefest moment, just to remove the damn thing, before your bodies were connected again, skin to skin, and his arms wrapped around your waist, hands large and firm as they glided over you, examining every inch of your body like it was your first time.

You shrugged your arms out of the sleeves, leaving the soft fabric underneath you. The floor was nice, but it was cool and hard.

His hands trailed down lower, and with a brush across your clit, he realized how wet you had grown and pushed a single finger in.

You gasped at the sensation. Everything felt brand new after the days without. You knew from previous relationships that the constant sex wasn’t normal. That the feeling of loss and the novelty of contact now was not average for you. This was special. Javier was special.

His finger pumped in and out as his thumb continued to brush gloriously over your clit.

You couldn’t voice anything that was going through your head. There was hardly anything even in your thoughts, only Javier’s name. Over and over. You might have chanted it, or it might have been your imagination. But you know that you communicated through the moans and screams that shocked through your body along with the impending orgasm.

Javier lowered himself, placing one arm on your thigh, and removed his finger. It was only one, but the loss of it caused your hips to instinctively press up, searching.

Then his mouth was on you and two fingers found their way into you. If your screams hadn’t been enough before to bother any neighbors, or even passerby on the street, they were loud enough now.

“ _ Fuck _ , Javi,” you moaned.

He hummed against your clit, the vibrations setting you off. You could feel your body preparing, the way your body contracted, building up tension, tighter and tighter, until he moved his fingers over just the right spot that you came apart, your walls clenching down on him as he kept licking and mouthing over you.

Your body seemed to release there on the floor. Every bit of tension you had held drifting away as your chest rose and fell.

* * *

It was another late night. Javier had told you this time that he’d be back by ten. That was feasible. And it was five minutes after that when the door opened and he all but collapsed into your arms.

“Long day,” you said. It wasn’t a question. The fifteen-hour days were long. And you hated the DEA for it.

Sometimes you wondered why Javier would sign up for it. Why anyone would sign up for a job that became their life like this. Maybe it was the reason why you traveled, trying to avoid being sucked into anything so wholly. Something so parasitic. Living with someone tied up in it often scared you. Seeing every little detail of how it affected Javier made you want to settle down with a job even less.

“Yeah. A long fuckin’ day,” he sighed, letting go to take off his jacket and walk into the kitchen.

You followed him in, and he pulled a tupperware of leftovers from a few days before out of the refrigerator.

“I just don’t understand what makes anyone want to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Cocaine. Drugs. Any of it. They’re all so damn stupid,” he said.”The guys who make it are bad, but the people who do it? Who think it’s cool? They’re just as guilty. They create the market, and I just can’t fucking handle how annoyed I get. At everyone.”

You settled into a chair. It was only a year ago that you had partaken, and not just once, in it. And you never told Javier. But the way you saw it, there wasn’t anything inherently  _ wrong  _ with trying it out. People who got addicted weren’t the criminals. They were suffering. The real criminals were the people who did terrible things to make the drugs. The people who killed to maintain a monopoly on the market.

“What happened today?” you asked.

“We got the report on drug use in the US,” he said. He put the container in the microwave and stared through the window as it began to spin. “It correlated with the violence here, I’m just fed up with everyone involved.”

You wanted to be happy he was talking things out. It was an improvement on things. Infinite times better than the weeks before you talked things through. But this rubbed you wrong.

“Javi, I—” you started. How could you say this? How could you say it in a way that wouldn’t sound awful? A way that wouldn’t hurt him. “I’ve done it before. A couple times. About a year ago.”

He turned around to face you. No words were spoken. He stared. You could tell he was looking into your eyes, there was a searching intensity on his face. Maybe he was trying to find a reason why you didn’t count in the people he complained about. Or maybe he was trying to find a reason why you did.

Javier remained silent.

“I know you probably hate everyone who does coke, and I get it,” you said. “Or I don’t really. But I can see why you would. It’s just, it’s not—people don’t know how addictive it is when they first do it. They get addicted and it’s not a crime. It’s a health problem and they need help. Not blame. And plus, most people don’t know better. You do it once, and it’s fun. And—”

“It’s  _ fun? _ ” he asked, voice low. “You talk about it like it’s the same thing as going out dancing. It’s  _ nothing _ like that.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Of course not, I’m not an idiot,” he said. You could see the regret flash through his eyes almost immediately after.

It didn’t stop you from saying, “And I am?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N, you know that,” he says.

“But you did. You look at me now and you don’t see me. I’m different to you.” You stood up, ready to leave if things got rough. You would be the first to admit that when you argued, your reaction was to leave and let things settle down. It wasn’t the best reflex. You liked quiet conversations and could handle even the hardest ones, as long as voices weren’t raised. This felt like it was heading into the aggressive territory.

But Javier didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned into you, an arm wrapping around your waist and the other around your neck, as he pressed his lips on yours. It was a quiet kiss. A simple one. But you gasped into it. Javier used to tell you he often didn’t trust words. He spoke more through things like this. And this kiss was no different. It was laden with apology and forgiveness, with want and affection. And maybe it was filled with love.

“I disagree with you. And I don’t like it. But I’m not mad, I never could be,” he breathed out against your lips. “You’re an amazing person, we all have our pasts. And that’s yours. It’s part of you.”

You nodded.

* * *

You were lying in bed with a book. Things were improving. You could tell. Javier was there that morning, and had been there the past couple nights. You were talking more. But there were still nights like this one. Where he said he would be back and he wasn’t. After a half-hour of waiting, you gave up and retired to your bedroom.

More than once it had crossed your mind that he was stuck out in the field, undercover or at a stakeout. That maybe he was in danger. That he couldn’t come home not because he was busy, but because he wasn’t safe.

You supposed worrying wouldn’t do you any good. He was a field agent. You remembered what Marta said at that dinner party.  _ Most of the field agents are often absent. If you don’t know how to handle it, it can be a lot. It takes a special kind of person to put up with it, but you know, if you love someone, that goes a long way. _

Life would be like this for him until he stopped being one. Would you be there to see it?

That was the thought you had been avoiding all this time. But now? When things were actually hard? When the school year’s end felt a bit closer? This was when you were starting to think about what was next.

Did you love Javier? You knew in your heart that the answer was yes. You did. You loved him more than you had loved just about anyone else.

But did he love you? You suspected as much. But he had never said a word. You don’t even know what the hell is going on between the two of you. You started as friends, and then, after you fucked that first time, then it became something else. What though, you weren’t sure. Javier had invited you to a dinner meant for agents and their families. Were you family? There were too many questions and no answers.

Only three things were true.

One, you hadn’t discussed a thing and it hurt now. Something about not knowing if Javier saw you as a friend or a lover or a girlfriend or something more hurt more than it should have. Ambiguity was familiar in your travels, but at least your relationships had been defined.

Two, you were in love with Javier. And you knew you meant at least something to him. There was no way out of this without both of you getting hurt.

And three, you don’t know what’s next. You loved traveling more than anything. Maybe more than Javier. You weren’t ready to settle down. There was no getting married to Javier. No sitting around and being a passive girlfriend for years while he fought off drug lords in Colombia. You didn’t know where you were headed after Colombia, or even when you would leave, but you couldn’t keep sitting and waiting for him. Your heart was out there. There was no way that whatever beautiful thing you had with Javier could be permanent.


	9. september: purpose

It was one of those nights you had reserved for you and Javier. And the first one he hasn’t postponed. You had gotten home from work and were settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen with a bottle of beer from the fridge in hand and a sandwich on a plate in front of you. Javier wasn’t expected for at least another hour, but the front door opened as you were taking your first bite.

You jumped at the sound and for a split-second, you were scared it was an intruder.

“I’m home,” Javier called out and you released your breath.

“I’m in the kitchen,” you responded.

His face appeared in the door to the room. “Hey.”

“You’re early.” You set down your drink and walked over to Javier. You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face into his neck. It felt nice to hold him. His arms settling around your sides were grounding. 

“I finished up everything as soon as I could. Wanted to be here with you.” You liked the feeling of his next and parts of his chest vibrating against you as he spoke. His low voice was soothing. It always had been. 

“Do you want a sandwich too?” you ask, voice muffled against his skin.

“Want to hold you like this,” he said. You inhaled again, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke and the cologne he put on whenever he was going to be meeting with the ambassador. It still amazed you that you could be living with someone who worked with someone so famous.

As someone who traveled around enough, you had become familiar with the American embassies. While you hadn’t interacted with most, there had been a few frantic calls, asking for help with voting in the elections and to reissue a passport, those sorts of things. And once, you had to be the one to call the embassy to obtain the citizenship papers for an American friend who gave birth while in France. It had given you a certain reverence for the ambassadors, politicians abroad in charge of keeping the peace between two countries. Sometimes when you talked to Javier, he would tell you about more things the ambassador did and it served to further amaze you.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever want to meet them, both out of disrespect and frustration with politicians, particularly those from the USA, despite how incredible they sounded. And as a result of the healthy fear Javier had sowed through his stories. The ambassador here didn’t seem like the sort who you would want to sit down and have a conversation with. Even small talk sounded a bit scary.

Javier’s embrace was warm and welcome in the cool apartment. The silence broke when he pulled away.

“I’m gonna change out of this, okay?”

“Yeah.” You sunk back onto your heels, your shoulders falling down a bit as you exhaled.

“Maybe we can order takeout, watch a movie or something?”

“I’d like that,” you responded.

While Javier disappeared into your bedroom to change, you brought your food and drink over to the couch and set them back down on the coffee table. You walked up to the TV and flipped on the news station before returning to sink into the plush cushions. You let the soft Spanish of the announcer flood over you as you continued drinking your beer.

It was starting to take effect, the world feeling a little softer, your body a little warmer, your brain a little looser. You were thinking about how good Javier looked in the suit he wore when he came in, and more specifically, how he looked as he walked back to his room and you could appreciate how the jacket hugged his shoulders so well.

You turned your attention back onto the news, some fluff piece about a new store at the Unicentro mall, and you almost missed Javier walking back into the living room. It wasn’t until he walked in front of the sofa that you looked up.

Javier was wearing a white undershirt, something you knew he only put on because you liked. It was obvious to both of you how your eyes raked over his body. You still smirked up at him. “Wanna take that off?”

“What? This?” Javier pointed at his chest and pulled forward a section of fabric. “I didn’t put it on to just take it off.”

“I know, but—”

“But what?” Javier challenged, still standing by the television. The glint in his eyes let you in on his true thoughts on the matter, as his tone didn’t leave much to be questioned. Your quick calculations showed it would take a line or two more for him to take off his shirt, and probably another two for you to start taking off your clothes too, if you wanted to.

“But why wear  _ anything _ when you look like  _ that  _ when you’re shirtless?”

His eyebrow quirked upward. “You mean when I look like I’ve been ignoring all the training the DEA put me through?”

“No, I mean, you look hot,” you laughed.

His hands moved to the base of his shirt and you knew you won this one. Within a couple seconds, the shirt was off and he was settled on the other side of the couch.

You set down your beer and crawled over to lean up against Javier’s chest. Your eyes closed as you revelled in how peaceful it was. You hadn’t had anything like this with him in a long time.

“I thought we were going to order takeout,” Javier asked.

“We have all evening, Javi,” you murmured. “I just want to lie here with you.”

.

You were sorting through the mail after school on September 8th when a small letter, hand addressed and covered with stamps, fell out of the stack. It was for you, and the return address was for Charlotte. In Santiago, Chile. 

_ August 23, 1980 _

_ Dear Y/N, _

_ I hope you are doing well. The past month has been amazing. I met up with Jonas in Lima, like I said, and we’ve been backpacking down the coast. It’s beautiful, really. You’d love it, I know that. You’d probably enjoy this even more than I do. I surprised myself, you know? I’m not used to this life, staying on the budget Jonas has and not just flying to the next city on the list. I think I understand why you do it though. We’ve met so many amazing people, and stopped in all these villages I never imagined visiting.  _

_ The best part was easily this woman, Belén, that we met just South of Santiago when our bus broke down. We ended up having to spend the night and we went to this little cafe and were talking to the owner and he let us spend the night at his home. His wife, she was so nice. She made us food for the evening and ended up connecting us the next morning with this guy who was driving all the way down to Temuco that day, so we didn’t have to wait for the bus. Anyway, Belén was probably the nicest person I’ve ever met. I can’t even explain how amazing that evening was, just listening to her talk about growing up. My Spanish has gotten pretty good, and Jonas has helped.  _

_ It’s crazy because Jonas and I had only spent a week together back in early May and planned this back then, and I wasn’t really sure what to expect out of him. He’s really nice, and while he’s got plans for the next bit of his travels, we’re hoping to meet up again sometime. I’m thinking I might be falling for him a bit, and we haven’t even done anything. I don’t know if he feels the same way about me and it scares me. It hasn’t been like this in a while.  _

_ Speaking of partners, how’s Javier? I know you never said you loved him or anything, but that look in your eyes when you talked about him. It was just like when you tell me about all the places you travel to and want to go to. I think it’s great that you have someone. And that you know he likes you back.  _

_ I guess that brings me to why I’m writing. I mean, I did want to just check in on you. Because I like knowing that there’s a place to send a letter to. It’s really hard to contact all our friends. I don’t know where half of them even are.  _

_ While we were planning to stay in Chile for the whole trip, it was going to be easier to go through Argentina, and detour through Comodoro on the Atlantic coast. And then we made our way down to Ushuaia, where we are now. But when we were in Comodoro we met some really interesting people at a hostel. Some artists and some travellers and everyone had amazing stories. We had a great two nights there. But they were talking about this artists’ collective up outside of Buenos Aires. They have this big property and you come and you help maintain the land and cook meals and stuff in exchange for housing, and it’s basically just time and space to do the creative things you want to do.  _

_ I know you used to talk about writing that book, and I instantly thought of you. And when we made it to Ushuaia, I realized that it was what I wanted to do, and I sent up a letter to them, letting them know I’d be there around December 10th and stay for two months. You know I really want to write more too, and I haven’t really had the time and space to paint much.  _

_ Jonas left a couple days ago to somehow make it back to Germany, but his two friends are planning a sailing trip around the world, and it sounds amazing. They’re taking this route where they start in England and then sail down to Brazil, and then over to South Africa and towards Australia, and I’m not sure exactly what their route is through there, but then they’re going to California and down through the Panama Canal and back to England. And it sounds really cool and they’ve agreed to pick me up in Brazil in late February and I’ll help crew the boat for the rest of the trip. I’m not really sure how to do any of it but they said they’d teach me. They’re looking for a couple more people to join them since they’d like to fill up the boat.  _

_ Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is that it’s an invitation to come with me to Buenos Aires, and spend a couple months there, and then join me for part, or all, of the sailing trip. And I know you have Javier, so I’m sort of expecting you to say no. Or maybe say yes to the first half. And that’s okay. But if things aren’t going well, I thought this might be a great opportunity for you.  _

_ You get to spend some time without a job and still be stable for a while, before heading off to sea, something neither of us have really done before. And if I recall correctly, you said you really wanted to go to Hong Kong and Japan and to some other countries I don’t remember, and this would be a way to get you there. If you wanted to.  _

_ By the time you get this, I’ll probably be backpacking in the Torres del Paine. I’ve met some girls, two from Australia and one from New Zealand, and they’ve invited me to go hiking with them. I know you’ll probably laugh at the thought of it, but after my adventure with Jonas, I think I’m up for some less glamorous trips.  _

_ After this, I’ll be taking some buses back to Santiago. I really liked it there, and I’m going to be using it as a ‘home base’ for the next couple of months before going to Buenos Aires. I’m not going to be living there or anything, I’m just generally going to be around there for a while. I’ve included the address of a friend who agreed to collect mail for me, so I await your response, or rather, your response will await me in Santiago.  _

_ Miss you more than I thought I would,  _

_ Charlotte Segal _

You had sat down on the couch while reading, and now finished, you lowered the letter to your lap and stared at the apartment. 

The wall in front of you, where the TV sat, also opened up into the kitchen which lay behind the wall. The bright warm light reflecting off the tile and orange paint in that room made their way into the living room. It was much too lively. 

The letter held good news. Charlotte was doing well. You were happy to hear from her. But it was also a horrible letter. 

It held the plan you didn’t know you were searching for. 

Everything about what Charlotte had planned was exactly what you wanted. You had been struggling to figure out what to do at the end of the school year, and after the long break from living month to month, you weren’t sure how to get back out again. Or if you even wanted to. 

Part of you was putting the decision you knew was looming above you off as long as possible. You didn’t want to think about choosing this life with Javier or the life you dreamed of and had and loved and could so easily return to. Not having a plan meant you didn’t have to make a decision. But now? Now there wasn’t just a plan. There was a good one. One you wanted to do.

.

“Y/N?” Javi’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Do you know what you want?”

“Yeah, um.” You glanced up to see the waiter standing next to your table, and looked down at the menu to select something, almost at random. “¿ _ Me trae un ajiaco y una cerveza?” _

The waiter took your menu and walked away, leaving Javier looking at you quizzically.

“Soup?” He asked.

“What? I like soup.  _ Ajiaco _ ’s good.”

“You don’t order  _ ajiaco _ , you’re usually more... I don’t know, adventurous?” Javier said.

“I just want soup today, Javi, does it matter?” you snapped.

“No,” Javier said, not phased by your temper. He remained calm, and he looked concerned more than anything. You felt his ankle rub up against yours reassuringly. “Are you okay? You haven’t really been here all evening.”

“I’m fine, sorry,” you said. The reality was that Javier was right. You had spent the last week thinking about Charlotte’s letter, and it was starting to interfere with your ability to hold a conversation. You resolved to push it out of your brain for the evening, for Javier. “Just preoccupied with work stuff.”

Javier chuckled, “Work stuff? Those kids are insane. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t know how  _ you _ commit to working for the government for years of your life,” you countered. It gained a smile from him.

It was still a topic that you avoided. Lately, anytime the two of you talked about his job it led to arguments. Always about the late nights, the lack of time spent together, the way he needed you to be there during the unpredictable times when he’d be home for emotional support. It wasn’t pleasant to think about. All you wanted was more time with him and less of the guilt associated with spending your free time away. And Javier just wanted someone to be there for him. Most of the pressure was self-inflicted, you knew, but you felt bad every time.

It was easier to avoid it.

Javier was obviously trying to think about how to respond without causing another discussion like you had the night before.

“Hey, this time last year I was getting settled in my first few months at the embassy here, and you, what were you doing?”

It was a topic change you were thankful for, even if the topic wasn’t one you wanted to discuss more than Javier’s work. “This time last year, um, I was in Portugal. Teaching English to an adult class, it was going well. That was when the principal of the school here, his brother was at the hostel for some reason, we were talking and he told me about the job here. He had made some expensive phone call back to Bogotá to let the principal know, and I didn’t have a job yet, but they said they’d get back to me. It took like six weeks for me to get to the address I left for them to notify me at, and then it was a speed run almost. I had been traveling without any limits previously, I had as long as I wanted to go where I wanted, and suddenly there was an end date to that.”

“Colombia was an end date?” Javier asked.

“Yeah, I guess when you’re living day to day, a whole year sounds like forever.” It was nearly impossible to have this conversation without talking about what was next. Would you stay? Would you leave to travel more?

The sick feeling in your stomach that had followed you around for the past few days worsened as you thought about it. You knew you  _ should _ tell Javier about Charlotte’s letter. The idea of leaving Colombia, for a couple months, maybe a lot longer, was something you were seriously considering. But you were also still so undecided that you didn’t want to tell him yet.

If you did, it would only serve to stress him out more. Possibly ruin things before you even decide to leave.

And part of you was scared that if he knew before you chose what to do, there wouldn’t be an option. That if he knew you were considering it, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye and tell him you were leaving. It would break your heart to see his own break. 

.

Somehow the sweet moments that had become so frequent for a few weeks disappeared. Javier was back to being gone most of the time. Every time you got home there’d be a message on the phone for you, something about a stakeout or an undercover mission. He couldn’t tell you much except when he’d be back.

Sometimes it would be obvious that while he had been gone the entire night, he had been back in the apartment while you were at work, leaving a couple dishes drying next to the sink and usually the radio on.

It wasn’t good. You knew Javier knew that, but it still stung every time you woke up knowing he hadn’t even been there at some point during the night. Which is what led you to now, sitting on the floor in front of the television, with Charlotte’s letter in your hands. You had read it over at least twenty times since it arrived, and you kept it in the spare bedroom, tucked inside of a pocket of your backpack that had remained dormant since you moved in back in March.

While you had been thinking about the impending decision for a while now, it was clear that you had to make a decision soon. For Charlotte’s sake. She needed to know so she could help make arrangements. But you didn’t want to think about leaving Javier. You didn’t want to think about the look on his face if you were to tell him you were leaving. You weren’t ready to break your own heart.

There were still a lot of options, you supposed. Saying yes to Charlotte was multi-faceted. Would you say yes to just the artist’s retreat? Or to all of it? Would you continue with her all the way to England, circumnavigating the globe and then some? Or would you stop, like she suggested, in Hong Kong or Japan? She was right, you had wanted to make it over to Eastern Asia for a while now. 

If you made it there, where would you go next? How long would you stay? You had spent most of your money on the flight from Europe to Bogotá and weren’t sure when you’d be able to save up again for another flight, especially if you flew to Buenos Aires to meet up with Charlotte.

And then there was the question of saying no. It didn’t mean you would never leave, it just meant you’d have more time to figure things out. Were those unmade plans better than what Charlotte had planned? Or would they be delaying the inevitable breakup you didn’t want to think about? 

Was it possible to stay here with Javier? You loved him. And maybe he loved you back. Neither of you had ever said it. But was that enough to keep you in Colombia?

You folded up the paper and set it down on the coffee table. You turned on the radio to create some background noise as you walked into the kitchen to make something to eat. You popped a container of leftover chicken and rice into the microwave and waited for it to heat up before scraping it onto a plate and setting it down on the table. You grabbed a glass to fill up with water.

You missed the early days with Javier. Back even before you started fucking him.

(You weren’t ready, not even now, to call it anything more than fucking, even in your head. But you knew it was more. It always had been.)

Back then, you were friends. You talked all the time. He made time for you, and you made time for him. He would sit with you as you cried out your frustrations of working at one place for so long. You would listen to him talk about how much it hurt to see what he saw out in the field. The raw underside of the country.

It was a shock in those first months to hear about the cocaine trade from Javier. You had your experiences with it over the years and had never realized where it came from. Or how much of a price people were willing to pay for it here.

Those days were perfect and somehow they had slipped away from your grasp and you didn’t know where they went. You didn’t know if it was possible to even return to that. 

Your mind was swirling too fast, it was dizzying. You collapsed into the chair at the breakfast table. You stared at the kitchen. You needed to ground yourself before everything became too overwhelming. 

You looked at the tile on the walls, the ugly pattern that you hated when you first visited Javier. But over the months you had grown to love it. It was the backdrop to so many beautiful moments. You knew that years from now, you’d still be able to remember the sight of Javier on so many mornings, leaning up against the countertop, shirtless, sipping a mug of coffee, a soft smile on his face as the warm morning light cast a hazy glow into the room.

The large terracotta floor tiles were the best texture to walk on barefoot in the morning. On hot days, they stayed so cool you would walk into the room for the soothing effect. There had been a couple occasions where you and Javier hadn’t made it out of the kitchen while undressing each other, and the hard surface wasn’t the most comfortable location, but you cherished the bruises from those days just as the ones Javier left on your skin. 

The table was orange, a little brighter than the floor tiling, and it clashed horribly with the blue wooden chairs. You had teased Javier so many times about his taste in furniture. And he let you. It wasn’t until a month ago that he told you that almost the entire apartment was furnished and decorated by the embassy.

You had to keep reminding yourself that it was still temporary housing for him. They couldn’t house him in the embassy complexes, not enough room. One day, and with the number of times both of you complained about the lack of air conditioning and the constant need for repairs it would probably be soon, the embassy would open up an apartment for him. A proper one. Deep down you knew it would be a single apartment, and as far as you knew, the embassy didn’t know you were living with Javier, so there was no guarantee that you would be able to move in with him.

But you liked to dream, for Javier’s sake, that there’d be a better place for him.

It still hurt. This apartment had become so special. One of the first places you were able to call home. The two of you had fucked on almost every surface, sure. But you had filled it with so much more. Memories of late stormy nights when you curled up next to Javier on the couch as he held you tight whenever the thunder hit. The warm smells of food cooking in the underused kitchen, filling the entire house for days to come with the swirling scents of spices. The domestic bliss of brushing your teeth in the morning while Javier was taking a shower, and he would lean out when he was done to give you a kiss, sometimes pulling you in closer, soaking through the clothes you put on for work. No matter how poorly it was furnished, it was important.

And now, sitting in the kitchen and trying to sort out all the ideas and possibilities in your head, it was a reminder of how transient everything was.

Soon, the house would lie empty and all of Javier’s things would be moved out. No longer would you get to stare at the tiles in the kitchen or laugh when Javier got excited about a song on the radio and made you dance with him in the living room. Like the house, your relationship with Javier was not something built to be permanent. There was a lot of ignoring the fact that you planned to keep  _ going _ someday, but it never erased it.

Sure, plenty of times you had entertained the idea of settling down. But the thought of that was so utterly heartbreaking in itself. You couldn’t do that. Not to yourself.

What you had with Javier couldn’t last. Javier needed a constant and you couldn’t be that. You couldn’t even entertain the idea of leaving for a few months and then returning, only to leave again and repeat the cycle. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and it wouldn’t be what you wanted either. You didn’t want to settle. Not this early on in your life. Maybe not ever.

You looked back down at your plate of food, untouched and almost cold again. You pushed it around a bit with your fork and took a few bites. It didn’t help that your stomach was uneasy with the decision you were about to make.

The radio in the other room switched from music to a story about Colombian authors. Just over a year ago, you were walking down the aisle at graduation, a brand new degree in hand, with a dream of traveling the world and becoming a writer. It was a pipe dream, even then, until three days later when a rich friend offered to fly you over to Europe with them. An expensive undertaking, one you gladly said yes to.

They flew back to the states a year ago, you were supposed to join back up with them for that flight but had opted to stay on the road, and had been ever since. Looking back, though, you weren’t sure if these almost nine months spent in Colombia could be considered as on the road. You’d barely traveled.

Javier didn’t deserve to deal with the inconsistency that was ahead. An offer given a week ago to extend your contract with the school for another year wasn’t an option in your mind, you hadn’t even told Javier about it and had just about forgotten it was even an offer until now. It was too limiting. This year was nice. Amazing even. But it wasn’t something you could indefinitely repeat.

You realized that your decision had already been made when the principal let you know you could stay for another year and you said, “I’ll think about it.”

There was no question. You had to leave at some point. And there would be no looking back. If you even entertained the thought of coming back to Javier over and over it would destroy you. And you worried it would destroy Javier too. Even more than how you were going to break his heart. 

.

_ September 26, 1980 _

_ Dear Charlotte, _

_ I hope this letter finds you promptly. And I hope your time in the mountains was incredible. _

_ I’m proud of you for sticking with Jonas, if I’m being honest. Part of me doubted you would make it. It’s not exactly the sort of adventure I’d expect you to take, but I’m glad you enjoyed it. Even if you still don’t understand why the vast majority of us don’t just fly. _

_ I remember what you said about leaving someone behind, and not wanting to do it again, Charlotte. That’s advice I’m struggling to follow, as you’ll see, but I hope you meet with him again. Even if it is after a year or two. You should tell him how you feel. If he was willing to travel with you for so long, I’d wager a bet he likes you too. Possibly even more. _

_ Javier is good. He’s busy a lot. So am I, I guess. We try to spend time together, but often it just doesn’t happen. There’s a lot of lonely nights where he doesn’t come home until I’m asleep and leaves before I wake up, if he even comes home. I can’t even know most of what he’s doing since it’s all top-secret government stuff. It’s been rough, I’m not going to lie.  _

_ You were right. I love him.  _

_ I just don’t know if he loves me back. Sometimes it seems obvious. But then sometimes, when we’re arguing or when he always forgets to call to let me know he’ll be late, it’s like I’m just a roommate to him. It’s confusing, to be honest. And no matter how often I try to talk about it, it escalates to arguments. I think that part is my fault though. He doesn’t ever want to fight. _

_ I just get so frustrated because this isn’t the life I want, I guess. I mean I love him and I want to spend my life with him. But I hate the mundanity of it all. _

_ I hate that no matter how much I want to always wake up next to him, I want to wake up in a brand new city every week even more. _

_ So I’m writing back to say yes. I want to go with you to the artists’ collective, and I want to take that sailing trip. I wasn’t sure how long it would be before I raised the money to take an intercontinental flight again, and it sounds like this is my chance. I still haven’t decided how far I’ll go with you. Like you said, stopping in Japan might be a good place for me. But maybe I’ll go further. It’s a brand new adventure, I’ve never been on a boat for more than a day, so it could be great. And I’m excited to catch up with you. To see your art and stuff. _

_ What’s the schedule going to look like? School here ends on November 21st, and I should be wrapped up with teaching things by the 24th. Should I plan to fly to Buenos Aires right before December 10th? If I can get a flight? How do we plan to get from Buenos Aires to the port in Brazil? And which port is it? _

_ I know you’re probably going to tell me that it’s dumb leaving Javier like this, but I don’t think I can come back to him if I leave. It’s not fair. He’s got a lot going on here, and I don’t think he’s going to leave for a long time. He’s dedicated to this job. Probably more than he’s dedicated to me. And to keep coming back to him would just be fooling both of us. I can’t sit around and get married and start a family. It’s not realistic. _

_ So I’m saying yes. _

_ I miss you so much too, _

_ Y/N Y/L/N _


End file.
